A wheel, broken
but not so you would notice
dazzles travelers
☯
Pullman porter
sits open-handed and still
his eyes, twin spirals
☯
Solitary breath
in the fetid men’s room
stink doctors long gone
☯
A branch’s shadow
wavers at 3 am
over the dead lamp
☯
The politician
says it isn’t either/or
as I hide from the storm
☯
One dead movie star’s
life story, tossed on the lawn
to rot with spring rain
☯
Afternoon squall
fills the shot glasses left out
on the picnic bench
☯
Those muddy clothes
thrown off by the universe
…who’ll stack the laundry?
☯
Again, that siren
mixed with the church band’s cymbal
Friday afternoon
☯
And it’s one wet crunch
as though the sidewalk outside
broke half a molar
☯
On this half-moon night
a spider, too small for the eye
rests in silver
☯
The tree awaits an axe
with its same indifference
to the soldier’s foot
☯
Two old lovers,
two Queen Anne buses–talk?
But what would I say?
☯
“Cosmic Energy”
Should be measured like all else
let’s stay sensible
☯
“I’m okay, all right,”
weak voice beneath the blanket–
I don’t see his face
