Ars Poetica
Through the 66’s line,
the rain-fog persisting
its glaze on my glasses
and beard, first in my bag
then my calves
the inexorable lightness –
until my heels lose
their soggy click, the asphalt
an oil-slick of offhand
metaphor subjected also
to this inexorable lightness –
I recall poems of a woman
gone wholly into the air
and report them now
with a journalist’s deadpan
I will be another casualty
another police report: a rather
conspicuous man broke
into an abandoned cinema
2:00 am Saturday
and now floats
in self-imposed stasis
over the pike
bridge without the presence
of mind even to light
a cigarette. He is sentenced
thus far to rearrange the faces
of rush hour commuters
into a more reasonable expression
of collective regret
and expectation.
Agreed?
The Voyeur in Love
A siren in the rain. The pacing thread
of a neighbor cleaning.
Water in pipes,
running its white music,
drowses you.
Screen door, a yellow-lit
frame two floors up.
A woman in pig-tails
instructs a child. The child
has ironed her hair.
Your room has one bed, and one desk,
and one window.
They leave and return,
cradling baskets
of linen. You rub your chin.
The pig-tailed woman
unknots her hair.
You scratch your scalp.
She inches her skirt up.
You’ve been told you have a heart
for nothing
and believed it. The girl
has thrown darts
and hit wall.
The neighbor has finished
cleaning or fallen asleep.
You are alone again, surrounded
by more books
than you will ever read.
The women have taken
the child and the light
remains on. They fill
cereal bowls, somewhere –
they coddle one another
to prime-time TV.
Suppose you’d have anything
and for that will
have nothing.
Suppose the window has opened
and you’re lost
to the breeze. Suppose
you’re being watched.
1 comment:
after reading ars poetica several times, i realized i never really knew the definition of 'inexorable.' it's perfect choice because despite the motion of the language, i'm worried for the duration that the speaker will never fully take off. there's tension. i like it.
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