Another Thing Coming
the train in my mindfinally stops beforeI get off and wend the way through thisgarden of you turningthe fan off in the night. returning to myself asan uninvited guest, Ifind
the train in my mindfinally stops beforeI get off and wend the way through thisgarden of you turningthe fan off in the night. returning to myself asan uninvited guest, Ifind
I want to tell you about the cereal I ate or pigeon footprints in wet cement, but scarcity warrants demand and these heady grass days have been hard to come
no pilgrimage quite as long as the four country miles, side-to-side in disconnected brooklyn, walking east to go west yet again we accidentally tango both prepared to lead the Passion
what a moment it is to haveshelved the bottle just as I’velearned a new game of cards.hands keep busy as birdsoutside run their errandsback and forth from the treesto feed.
Scheherazade, night so longwith the story I tell myselfto help winter pass, could be five ormidnight save for the moonlow over the Navy Yardsinging its time of day. driven over
“a labyrinth is not a maze, in which confusion is the aim.”ยน the path was always inevitable, never quite chosen. the unavoidable moon reveals blood in my mouth, the Pleiades
in spring we come across a peeling house and fill it with pots and pans. sometimes I make noise with a wooden spoon. you fix shingles and leaks, tinker, turn
my hands still smelling of garlic, I leave early, walking uncertain on my own two feet I imagine birds picking at the suet somewhere else, on a street with
(after 8-bitfiction) you sink your sensible feet in the dirt while we talk about the heat presuming the boundaries of the court are drawn there like sowed beds, the summer
after Andrew Wyeth‘s Squall the piping plovers hopped along the time I went birding, cold and wet dispositions fret, slickered yellow hiding behind dunes pock-marked by rain, canvas tote bags dampened,