The window from which i'm surveying
defines me
condensation holds
outlines of heavy breath
the magnitude of the sycamore this morning
(despite my best efforts)
will simply not leave
with the white evil of bumbling ghosts
or with father caught crunching leaves
for the sake of crunching's sake
casting autumn scowl
onto the adsorbing white void
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Monday, January 25, 2010
A Poem For Toney McCrann by Rich Wyatt
"The Soul, Addressing Itself, Wanders Around Right After Death" by Rich Wyatt
On so much of this ground you'll
find what the wasp buried, not much,
and the voice-bearing others whose names are lost. Who cares.
Hand me that spoon and that fork and we'll dig
for an hour, evening on our shoulders like an incentive,
a habit, the many molecules called stars
searching out a body under and over the always-black sea
we can't even now grasp like water from a rushing stream. Go
on and mention me to your friends, you'll have a time
explaining the lilac bushes so briefly attentive,
the season, too, over in a minute.
I stopped once and had coffee in Nick's, on 3rd Street.
I remember everyone's face there as my own, as I tapped
my fingernails on the window next to the booth, out of nervousness.
On so much of this ground you'll
find what the wasp buried, not much,
and the voice-bearing others whose names are lost. Who cares.
Hand me that spoon and that fork and we'll dig
for an hour, evening on our shoulders like an incentive,
a habit, the many molecules called stars
searching out a body under and over the always-black sea
we can't even now grasp like water from a rushing stream. Go
on and mention me to your friends, you'll have a time
explaining the lilac bushes so briefly attentive,
the season, too, over in a minute.
I stopped once and had coffee in Nick's, on 3rd Street.
I remember everyone's face there as my own, as I tapped
my fingernails on the window next to the booth, out of nervousness.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Beans
ive left a can of lucky green beans on my microwave
To be honest I have had no intention of eating them today
nor will I tomorrow
time is cruel and gets crueler to all
but canned food
I walk backward towards my mattress
brushing my teeth and eyeing the southwest corner of my room
in which the radiation box sits in
its funny
but my space heater and microwave will not run at the same time
running them in such a reckless way often prompts
me to phone my land lord and have him "flip the breaker"
To be honest I have had no intention of eating them today
nor will I tomorrow
time is cruel and gets crueler to all
but canned food
I walk backward towards my mattress
brushing my teeth and eyeing the southwest corner of my room
in which the radiation box sits in
its funny
but my space heater and microwave will not run at the same time
running them in such a reckless way often prompts
me to phone my land lord and have him "flip the breaker"
Friday, January 8, 2010
Eatting Snails
any sequence of contours and lines
messed up or stored
dried solid between my muddy hand print
and woody snags
I want to believe
the river in winter
is as it was last June
when my brother baptized me
in the depths of the Missouri's murk
the disadvantages of the past spinning
nearly disappearing with pools of filth
from my beard
I am evil with age
growing this fervor
learning to love things more
or at any extant possible
and vanish ego in this
polluted river
messed up or stored
dried solid between my muddy hand print
and woody snags
I want to believe
the river in winter
is as it was last June
when my brother baptized me
in the depths of the Missouri's murk
the disadvantages of the past spinning
nearly disappearing with pools of filth
from my beard
I am evil with age
growing this fervor
learning to love things more
or at any extant possible
and vanish ego in this
polluted river
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