those cold bodies in the sky avoid self-promotion /
they wait long and refuse to move /
no wish or whisper can reach them /
hissed alone in that night that was to be filled /
with flashing signs marking here forward /
they must be dusty or frozen /
to sit so long and not need to shift weight /
if we stayed still for eons /
there may be attention paid /
for being so peacefully menacing
written three days ago this was to be lain /
where the wood handle met the steel blade /
holding both elements in the same hand /
felt like the converging of two times /
the worn split of wood and the chilling cast of steel /
together stabbing into packed soil /
and me, a bystander always in body /
standing alongside the earth
dying is the only talent /
we all share/
some more so than others
can’t count today /
one is too many /
7000 is not enough /
to make a convincing statement /
as a toe in the eye /
just before a reasoned knee jerks back /
if all this mad erasing /
was done without speaking /
every molecule would be hung /
because because be cause be /
language is time /
and all time now /
is delivered to the raging cause /
because it’s what friends do /
on the surface of the planet that is their mirror /
and who plant a banner /
with every polished stride /
talking and biting at the same time /
practicing serious tones /
but never grave /
that might draw an image /
where cameras are shattered /
all this, only guaranteeing they will /
find your door eventually /
and not wipe their feet for the welcome
at the end of the fingertip lies space /
your hand in my hand, turning coins /
know not well how effort closes tight before borders /
today half-off only for there’s no tomorrow /
and the hours sent upwards for time’s royalty /
should you ever wander onto the subway tracks /
I will be still and able to stare through the two-levels /
over the by-pass and the world’s hunch /
knowing you knew enough centuries /
to unpin this moment and make new /
to say “ever” first again /
only you gone proving history wrong alone (as one)
no one word bears the burden of what is happening /
no one wants to know less than those at the centre /
their position is a landscape portrait /
selective light on a still nature lacking the continuous movement /
that undercuts the argument the moment it is spoken /
groomed beasts knowing their best side /
pausing for the assumed crowd nodding in approval /
muscled flank bred to be admired and consumed with the same mouth /
the military commissions the most portraits /
soft images to absorb the gluey stain of pressing out-of-frame figures /
into the theatre floor where each word is seven steps up the ladder /
from the surprising shades of mud tilting into the easel stand /
sign the big names to that portrait /
taking credit for the view
begin the day with a calculated loss /
then dig your hole, piling overturned earth in a mound /
on the one-way street /
that’s the hope /
the luck sometimes squeezed out of accidents /
maybe a dandelion by week’s end /
or fresh organs for deserving folk /
the least visible absences are the ones usually stepped in /
up to an ankle in the chest where the blood pump was /
or a children’s book about cremation /
highlighting the snap, crackle, pop of a withering end /
those holes in the earth /
have the indent of a smile /
chuckling at something we’ve done /
and are still doing /
thinking nothing of time /
that thing we created that /
always comes back to haunt /
boo who?
we are not equal /
though the serial numbers contain the same number of digits /
we are not equal /
though the limbs end in the same dimension /
we are not equal /
though the sand will fill our mouths in roughly the same time /
we are not equal /
though rights are just a language stockpiled in higher climes /
we are not equal /
though sewer rumbles under all our feet /
we are not equal /
though the moon was conquered in our person /
we are not equal /
though none of us ever knew the bones compressed into carbon worlds ago /
we are not equal /
though the fibres transferring day calculations are blind /
we are not equal /
though a burnt tongue still talks /
we are not equal /
though snow only falls here quieting the routine voices /
we are not equal /
though we share a glowing screen
it’s a tight fit, squeezing between official statements /
prepared notes instead of breath at a recognizable pace /
measure the space between words to ensure a convincing dimension /
nod like an undeniable tide /
forcing beach goers to the highest points of the argument /
best to strand the audience in a compounded structure /
where the beginning and the end never meet /
just weighted phrase on phrase, pinning them under national weight /
speech that leaves little air /
drowning above ground in the self-serving thick
the day is glowing with the villagers’ torches /
the scent of lavender mixes with their bellows /
mark another date on the calendar scraped into the wall /
perhaps a birthday today on some plate elsewhere always /
I can touch my hands behind my back as a forced hug /
exercise regularly in the feet I can afford /
there is rain here, too, making the fence look new /
spared so many objects to consider /
only the sea leaning closer /
that absent air above left to hold