suggest a cat at attention,
triangular head?
☯
Left hand like a starfish
watch it long enough, sensibly,
it may move an arm.
☯
One cedar tree branch
bent like a worm, much older
than this argument
☯
They call the busman
“driver”–that formality
cracks in my own throat.
☯
Thick plaid headgear,
brown beard, thick glasses–a voice
like the end of the world.
☯
She waves, the bus goes,
she hunches her red shoulders
sundown.
☯
A wise gas exchange
that’s how I serve the Earth
slinging CO2.
☯
The accordion
held by our ancient Russian
choir beneath my floor.
☯
What else might I
be wrong about, given so much
time and passion?
☯
The book, the record,
whichever finishes first…
at the same time.
☯
Heater on the bus
declaiming hollow language
waiting for its fill.
☯
In front of two lights
a hill and its calm climbing,
no sound of the motor
☯
Washing only
the hand that’s been in the piss;
surety.
☯
Someone stuck a stamp
on the back of Hemingway;
a sad Christmas seal?
☯
A serious thing, death,
and also two white lights
on three white walls.
☯
Why yes, you workmen,
give me a whistle when I’m
nude at the window
☯
A hiss from the street
as if a snake would chitter;
no one goes anywhere.
☯
My hand and the pen
feel charged–too bad for my mind
it’s time for bed.
