Thursday, July 21, 2005


I will not condemn our 'esoteric
Embellishments of personality', those that forge
Intractable wefts in the translucent

Bubbles our thoughts waft
From, each inane
Jaunt to the Laundromat is a dance

Within the unsuspecting
Dance of another’s cigarette
Run, the guesswork

Of perception dutifully fills
In behind, the apparent world falling
Into a chirp-heavy

Accord, or does it conspire to
Slay us, these urban shades
Always skulking with their jagged

Grins, you see it
Depends upon the pedestrian’s
Gait, the one long fingernail

On the woman across
From me or if
I am picturing how it opens

Skin, which is how I know
I’ve been on the train
Too much this otherwise fine

Tuesday, the tinsel
Nightlight of Brooklyn
Cascading over

The dull, thick, chemical canal
As I have plans to
Convene with my sister

In our living room
For a beer, where the thin
Cardboard dogs howl in

Black marker off
The edge and a child’s red
Accordion languishes

Untouched, there are two Blind
Willies: one crossing
Jordan and the other taking

His burden to the Lord, Lord
How I sense a trouble
Come to perplex the good

People that do bend
Before dogma, that do cauterize
Doubt in the hope of rooting

A lame leg before giving way
To the inexorable
Aesthetics of empire

Which in readiness debilitates
Its angular chill for the musty pleasures
Of inefficiency, these are the songs

Of ourselves we sing
For others, simultaneously
Indulging an altogether

More elusive melody, the one
Within the head, though I see no
Need to dissolve

The crutch of selfhood, to shun
Culture for nature
Minutia for perpetuity

Intuition for the deliverance of air.

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