A Multi-Stemmed Deciduous Shrub of Great Beauty When in Bloom
To pour oneself back
into the shape of retired thoughts
is an exercise for boom times.
Were it not for the scent of
Philadelphus in the apartment
were it not for love knocking
at the back of the throat and
were we not no longer friends —
how many people do you meet
in each life to call your own?
The run-on sentence of seeing
the one you didn’t make
made with another
children in the sun.
I pulled stems from
the wall of sound to pour
spirits into a cup. Each
day forty hours in the making
a renaissance for some.
Have you ever walked a thought
back and forth along the water until
it turned into a table? It would be
unpleasant to enjoy the mood
as Darwinian, the sundries procured
to reward ourselves for following
the rules. Pause the season
finale so I can turn off the light.
Put them in a pool and pull the ladder up.
◆ ◆ ◆ ◆ ◆
The Art of the Novel
It wasn’t clear
how long the muses
dressed as lunch ladies
kept the place open
The room got dark
though the sun was still out
I went home to think about it
I said to the sea
there is a full moon sensation
and it nodded back
its beard pulling a wave
through the air with one hand
I’d intended to be open
to whatever life was
to offer love
where I found its plot
You had to check the date
Milk went bad even in heaven
This wasn’t it
I brushed my teeth
for entertainment
◆ ◆ ◆ ◆ ◆
The History of Music
Can language mimic
what 28 seconds of guitar
achieve on the first track
of a record by someone
born in the ‘90s? What
would Stein hear if her
heart hovered in her mouth
a bartender of speech.
Try again.
When he asked, I said
salt, clouds, and linen
made my nature. If I
close your eyes I can
tell you anything, the
audience as performers
birds prompting us to
look outside, the yard
a lake of sun. There’s
a bassoon drawing on air.
I’m often waiting
for the trumpets to come in.