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.
No comments:
Post a Comment