THEN BETELGEUSE REAPPEARS
Then I’m not sure
what time we’re living.
Then I read fire on the lake
as a premonition of our
estrangement from place.
Then Betelgeuse vanishes.
Then Betelgeuse reappears.
Then Betelgeuse vanishes
and I know the face
of the merciless universe.
Then my eyes are inflamed
and I can’t see; my lenses contain
a polymer that scrapes.
Then you hand me a tissue
to blot my fluorescent tears.
Then I know in the many
worlds theory we’ve met
and unmet across countless
collapsible card tables.
Then I fall into a Pitseleh
which means I can’t stop
listening to Elliott Smith sing
“Pitseleh,” sing, “I’m not half
what I [breath] wish I was.”
Then I don’t want to be
touched. Then I want
to touch everything,
to consume everything
before me like fire,
to make everything possible
mine. Then I know I am
a pantophagist, eater
of worlds. Then I
spend the morning
throwing sticks to the river.
Then I imagine their end,
exposed as wood that’s
harbored water.
Then I think “today
is the last day of April.”
SUSPENSION BRIDGE
|
all this strata for minds asleep bridges that don’t exist we’re not sure if we remember forest fires thick enough we can’t remember we blot our minds when danger moves slabs of quarried limestone we stare a long time our eyes follow upward I yell “trochee!” roiling mutes my voice until now I’ve seen you only as reflected light a sweater drapes the banister the Nena record skips neunundneunzig Luft... neunundneunzig Luft... neunundneunzig Luft... from a depthless longing and gesture wordless I misplace words in a synonym field numerous times the inscription reads farm weeds the pharmacist says you have to shake it” tip the dropper |
strange rooms we’ll never enter again absence leaving a mark or not we breathe smoke for weeks smoke blots the sun as we bar a door behind us stand monolithic to discern the remnants are pylons but the river’s carved names relieve the rock I realize it’s your shadow I want but it’s not yours in the final chorus neunundneunzig Luft... on into eternity I suffer you give me a look that collapses toward the door I’ve been accused of writing unmoored poems but I see harm seeds “it’s a suspension I shake the bottle and look into the sky |
SHADE TREES
I translate the sway of shade trees into speech.
Would you believe geography halts weather : The fuchsia flowers that spray the freeway median are wild phlox.
Would you believe me if I spoke in abbreviations : Today’s wind gusts will reach 20 mph.
Would you believe weather dissolves : I mimic wind thru marionetted birds’ wings.
Would you believe weather revolves : The wind lifts up to agree.
Would you believe weather resolves itself : I bind knots.
Would you believe me if I said shorthand is a language : I regret most actions.
Would you believe me if I struck through each word upon its completion : I defoliate my face until my wrists ache.
Would you believe me if I pulled myself apart : There’s ghost energy in your attic bedroom.
Would you believe I see three futures before me at all times : It isn’t an exact science.
Would you believe I imagine you into multiple existences daily : I hear you moving through the white noise.
Would you believe most paranormal experiences can be attributed to elevated carbon monoxide and radon levels in old houses : There’s ghost energy in your crawl space.
Would you believe the clouds move in a diagonal to announce the coming rain?