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Looking for You on Facebook

June 19, 2015

promI think

of what you must still

be lost by:

your once belief

in mythical beasts,

coins you found

and thought

could be unique,

the sky still blue

despite black,

empty branches, great

blocks of buildings,

shadowed and standing

mute, awaiting

conversation, brick-

a-brack of our days

and what we might

say about them.

You remember how,

when we loved,

we spoke, how

some moments—you

said—must tell

of memory fallen into

disrepair, how they

slipped and still

cried for attention.

The silences

we indulged, our

fractured attention

to words, ambient,

evident.

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Conversation

May 27, 2015

snarlage“Infection,” you said, “this

notion ‘culture,’ something passed

as real, when, really,

 

it’s propaganda,

a sort of ought-to-be we’d

so love to be true.”

 

I could only see sun

giving dimension to your

irises, blue seas

 

beneath clear water.

Maybe losses are actual—

we’ll just lose ground, hold

 

what should be given. But you,

you are worth saving.

Construction

February 18, 2015

Many buildings stallEveryone marches

in my neighborhood—iron

rising from basements

x

dug before layers

of snow filled them. Fences can’t

conceal their undress,

x

which points to a sky

gathering to drop. Workers

shuffle, look up, and

 x

mumble jokes. Ventures

around here are relentless,

weather be damned. God

x

hasn’t squashed anyone yet

…or not in a while.

Dream Interpretation

February 8, 2015

IMG_0648Of everything dreamt, death matters—figures

lost, their faces abrading in decay

and frozen grins turning to gashes with

desiccation. You said so. To imagine

any demise is like ending time, which

no one dare do waking. No one will say

past, present, and future are separable.

No one wants their cable to unravel,

each strand reaching in supplication

only limbs manage. Close my eyes and still

time unwinds. Only in sleep will it stop.

You said night is for doing what we can’t,

and there is consolation: as long as

the sun moves, we move, shadows stretching.

Chiberia

February 5, 2015

doodleage327Snow lies in places

no one walks or drives, patches

or strips squared neatly

x

like paper—as blank,

as desperate—drifting rafts,

no port and color

 x

and no company.

The rest is cratered with steps.

Tire tracks of passage

 x

announce routes hearts take,

hurried between points, rhythm

in starting, stopping,

 x

moving on again, blind to

what waits for crossing.

Boy on the L

January 3, 2015

redlungThough you can’t quite look, his library card

is out, and everyone sees him survey

for thieves. The car lurches. It bucks gently

as if to keep the card in hand. Today

light comes crossways, signaling our movement

with its own. The boy twists to follow, cat

to mouse, and catches someone watching him,

wearing a smile of detection. They meet—

their minds do, as minds do—in common space

between. We passengers are witnesses.

He holds his card up to show her. She grabs

her wallet from her purse, shuffles, presents

its match. The next stop brings bodies’ exchange,

and they stay, one still fixed to the other.

The Meteorologist

December 20, 2014

sberryquickEvery night finds him

waving at a map, sweeping

winds across countries,

 x

anticipating

weather—how the air will feel,

how we will feel then.

x

Air isn’t always

the same weight, he wants to explain,

but can’t say what you

x

ought to know by now—

invisible rules govern

a snowy sky, still

x

as all else falls. His part ends,

and stars glare above.