fort
to witch
I say: New York, New York, take your
time and brightnesses. I will
the ground none of you, having lost
a very new year to gargoylic pigeons
on the school front, thumbs of no
nonsense roses and pain. I take minor
leaps into the rest of the bed, my hair
ripped to tickets. New York, sounding
bored. The way to the station smells wet
and dangerous. It will be elegant, always,
to live this live.
trains
You lay me beneath the city & I keep up
with the dinners, the many keys around
me, placing myself like a white billboard
in the hole. Jiggling accordingly, my family looks
around in disbelief. What the, says them, seeing
the roofs slapped at with snow, big faces
of children sticking out of their coats,
accidents accompaning the smell of
cream. It's no place to be. Between our
feet, there's my bag of books and kinds
of food, below this you said
sounds like the sea. You hate it. If only
in my mind, you're drunk with hating.
.
sun no shine
It's Tuesday and you look back
to my pockets where my hands are
fitting. You've documented all kinds
of activities and I'm used
to that about you. Several escalators down,
I describe the guy you'll look like: he seemed
very pink with a plaid hat and braces attached
to his blue jeans. Was he alone, yes he was.
and or
They
fall away. All day they fall in love. They have these thick peices of
pilfered sandwiches and huge coats on. They largely own the corner
stores, and their teeth look like chalk. They can.
Attendents, rats, women; and they survive by falling, as everyone. That
man on the subway tells you it's true.
ex; curse shun
Reminding me of this, the poplars & maples grow
back to the ground, as do the number of faces
at nightclubs. The rain embossed on the road kind of
retreats into whispering, as before the rain.
Your sweater worn out all evening, stumbling about
your shoulders now, is of your head & hands
& hangs up. Out, out of my ears; the orange sling
of morning, of traffic, my falling steps
down the stairs; the reasons I work hard run
out. The smaller this apartment gets in our place.
It’s like a white plane. We back into the bed, back,
ending the yellowy sheets, not knowing each other once.
loudness and length
Dogs
baying fortissimo in the sea shelf of our wanderings down midtown, 1st
Avenue, down Clinton and gristle. Your favorite bar is lit. Everything
about it is red and dark. Kevin backs you; you are beside the dark
interior. I'm on the fourth wall tonight, fine. A dream is lipping my
head. There is music through it and we are walking, though the
picturing is different for me now as with the city, streets, poor
girls, your order.
braces
I sleep on the couch in the kitchen. There is this
window in there. The couch is dark, as all the tile
is dark and dirty and black bars cross the window
this city is through.
At night you fix me like an insert
a piece of my white dress.
Your portion, walking lengthwise,
is picking me up in the dark and setting me down.
'the city' says
I want to know nothing of it all the long
day. We listen to Dylan. Cats bite flies and their pink jaws gleam in
the afternoon light. The perfume sooner or later and cars come. The
fires next door. Of course. The alarm.
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