To you: whose brow is made of metal Whose curvilinear form and Whose warm weight and Whose full-throated Self is so self possessed: Sorry So Sloppy ————— Dozens of them set out on the slope o f the hospital grounds Searching in teams You, Christ on a cross I hold your hand, unsure OK yeah yes easy-peasy —————- Friendless in the air conditioned dark Kicking at a moonless sky Possessed of an idea That a call or a coo Will bring us to you But we never do arrive And so you writhe upward Toward the static And quivering constellations And it never ends —————- In years past I was of the night Less lately But still, time to time Look up at the moon And sway sickly as the knees tickle And wake with a prayer For clean weather
1. The crisp crusted burn A low static in the eyes Washing my feet as I go Sturdy joists across a shallow floor Phoned the Cemetery authority To discuss the direction of headstones 5 days of rain, 5 chances to flood 2. The house began to take on strange energies in those final days The wind haunting slow circles around the edges Across the street the worker began to spend nights alone in his truck lights on engine off It was hot and everything was wet 3. The dispiriting beauty Of a grocery store sunset Wide enough to die under
Can human things happen to the soul? Is there a way of understanding that Is plain-hearted and without shame Why Does the heart whimper a bit, rattled around When at the winter grocer your hands droop And dip as you smudge up the cracker packets? Years from now buried a thousand meters below are the wide, airy Parking lots I spent my days stuttering across And once made my home Can human things happen to my soul As Each night I am To relive, relive, renew and endure Muttering through muted mouth (As if trying to remember) One…two… clap, repeat
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