A hologram is a hologram
Is a hologram, save
For the rapture of a man peddling
Sausages in a black stocking
Cap, unutterable terrors
Encompassing each inch of veritable
Movement into the realm
Of poetry, just as
It is a scandal to live outside
The history of saliva, conjuring
Meek spectacles from the department
Store display windows
The entire globe was surrounded
By quotes, though inside
The bakery an old man quietly
Held a cake emblazoned
With his granddaughter’s face
Like Hugo Ball
Restively clutching the 133-year-old skull
Of a 21-year-old girl and wishing
To paint its hollow cheek with kisses
Romancing a corpse
Or simply bargaining with war, atoms
Gripped loosely in the swinging
Of a thick fist, music
Tumbling from the vegetation as if
Today’s weather
Were attuned to a Promethean Chord
And it is, of
Course, the way the eye
Fixes disaster into art and isn’t it
Good to know winter
Is coming, not denying the skylark
Its gradual movement
Towards disintegration? I am
Not like a man
Who says I have never
Been interested in knowing
Knowing and yet
There is sometimes a dark
Companion who pulls, a castanet
Snapping talismanic, calling
The air into mass as in the sea
A dandelion self-disperses and here
On asphalt, a womanly
Hobo strikes at a damp matchbook
Sparks fizzling, I saw myself
Breathing and imagined a tiny tin finger
Rapping at my ribs, today
We saw a mangy parrot voicelessly
Traipse a limb, it’s freezing
In Brooklyn and we fear the parrot
Will not survive the night, the moon
Multiplying newness, caressing
Carcasses into alien
Readymades and is it right that we
Continue to try to love that part
Of ourselves sampling annihilation?
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