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Memory still erases and tears,
Erases and tears.
You would want it all to end more quickly,
The calendar to break off around Christmas time,
So in your inner manger, it would be all warm and…
Cities are just cities. This one too. On the road to Bethlehem.
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I watch them
and write, my paper placed
on the AA book
as I wait for my meeting –
will my separation crack
with the ice of the lakes
and will I too feel
I am about to begin
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but still I yearn to see
some providence for the sick, some thing
that shines inside more brightly than the light,
negating the heavily breathing I –
are you ready for eternity?
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the body remembers it all the books that ruin your life
when they are beset by agents of darkness bed bugs
what kind of an idiot watches a portal open up in his eyes
cold matter breathing darkness the landlady becoming
military police i rip all of my books into shreds
and i glue my own book from these
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If you have dirty fingers
and run them a couple of times
over the keyboard
with all your heart
how will you tell
the third time
which ones are black
and which ones are white
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...oh that saving intoxication i take a running start and jump off a mound and fly into the hedge of herons and they meet me with tender nips...
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Homes fill with vases sputtering marigold orange
As days grow shorter, there is nothing to be done –
The young men sing, titmice twitter over graves
And the shells of urns fill up with your friends
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I’ve been learning how to be human from the rain
from the southern wind
and from the fog
that beautiful fog
in the grasses along the shore
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so what’s the worry? impossible, i say
time does not think about that.
the river flows under your bridge,
the police are almost on vacation,
god rides a spaceship from mars.
