Diligent grass pokes
through dirt clods in the storm drain
alleyway sundown
☯
Hope as fall folly
another season of death
come in with the chill
☯
It dies, finally
in the cold rec room, mourners
munching on apples
☯
Wrote Conrad: You fail
“Not through any fault of yours”
thus it slips the Word
☯
At such times, my death
seen from down the road a bit
releases relief
☯
Not enough quorum
so our planned insurrection
too, dies quietly
☯
Certain as fall leaves
freshmen baby-stepping
(up?) (across?) the Ave
☯
Forty-five minutes
into the meeting we get
onto politics
☯
Somebody comes in
starts the sink, rinses the plates
leaves without a word
☯
Evangelical
neither shining nor glowing
bottom of the well
☯
All a numbers game
reaching its critical mass
we just cannot suck
☯
Free as in freedom
or in price, democratic
an average pretzel
☯
For necessity
against militant nonsense
identity wonks
☯
And against the void
sharing a cat video
but we need rewrites
☯
This isn’t just an
accident, but a purpose,
unto a greater…?
☯
Participation
meaningless, in the abstract–
ah, citizenry!
☯
The place is the space
but the place is only space
with us placed in
☯
One thousand true fans
is enough for one lifetime
depending on who
