should gauze fail to hold /
lick said wound with kool-aid tongue /
memory is an organ /
rattling in the messenger bag /
wiped down each morning /
with scented wipes, lemon and thyme /
my fingers are numb /
from ringing the end’s bell /
let closing night be an overload /
of circuitry and rainbow sparks /
not a threadbare shroud /
thinning under uncommented pressure /
or should the sun’s controlled explosion fail first /
let that lead the service
we should concede that we are separate /
though we share air, the mouth’d breath that returns /
are hieroglyphs without a common stone /
those footprints in front of the yard are a myth /
so many vessels reclining into the current /
bobbing far from the rough catches of the shores /
arriving at a great pool, stirring finally in the swirl /
broken glass in a river is never seen, only felt /
sample moon that is the moon /
waiting in the wings /
most of each day /
summoned by a sincere mislead /
to anchor the scene /
with a marquee name for audience pull /
into an ill-lit audition
what next, words? /
feeble switches bowing under mattered girth /
a neck lasts longer /
durable isthmus enduring the crash of both currents /
assumed capital to the north /
engine of flailing to the south /
and a hazardous third, to serve the abstract term written
the man with the limp is ground into light /
and reflection by passing trains /
do we die less in the 21st century? /
polished sofas and waiting rooms injecting perfume by proximity alert /
what everyone knows is seen /
portioned out across a wall of vapor /
backlit, flash-timed by blip and whist of clacks /
driving interest through development forecasts /
set back and gather warmth from the friction of exchange /
noting quickly that eyes dim daily
no cars today /
they died in the early frost /
shells weakened and collapsed under /
the weight of ice spectacles/
blooming in the fresh winter dark
there was that one well-written line from a dream /
that I can’t remember but still resonates in its outline and cadence /
a comforting ghost of a dog whose body heat may save a life one night /
radiant and fuzzy, enticingly naked through the steamed shower glass /
it twisted the earth slightly as a pocket book prophecy smuggled past subway turnstiles /
injected into waterlines flowing towards taps for newborns screaming as fluid turns to air /
tamp down the line as gift wrap in every infant stomach /
filtering babble through a worded tuning fork that line lining /
I pray slightly for our youth who digest the infernal knot
too loose to calculate tension in morning hours /
bracing for that elastic snap later /
maybe as crows peck on the stove pipe /
or light bulbs die and revive repeatedly /
while dusk turns to a riper bruise /
or the house cracks in its descent into thawing bog /
someone propose a monument to light /
that necessary abstract lived with daily /
spotlighting dust lining all the colour in the house /
there is pressure in abandoned particles /
becoming whole as the hours lift
the snow is falling at a sharp angle /
like its trying to move away for us /
leave the irate humans behind /
in their fixation on sweeping almost everything away /
scrubbing the ground until they can see their faces /
in cracked concrete and flood diversions /
each flake is an open palm /
patting us on the head /
as we walk towards the door /
stumbling for the keys
there is one pie cooling on the horizon /
described as golden, expansive, portioned /
but the plate is licked clean /
by lengthy, manicured tongues /
yet the described aroma remains /
lifting off perfectly cut memos /
and the boldest of fonts /
eat what you see /
in recipes dropped in your domain /
few have the current to bake so big