Night-drunk bees s(t)unned on October’s panes,
Their dried husks in the windshield of a late-night thought,
Home is just a breadth of road away.
Each limousine the pinwheel of a funeral.
50% cuts in the U.S. nuclear arsenal.
The night nurse easing your thin bottom Orderly Squads of Flowers in the Chaos of Existence 11.01.2014
The night nurse quibbling with the old GP:
The lobbied family becalmed around
Everything morphined: They more or less agree What But Dignity in the Vigil 11.01.2014
MACEO J. WHITAKER
Expostulate up! up! Route 9, Will.
Ignore the totality of immortality.
Drink up this anti-pastoral.
Hail the Just-a-Buck and Minnow Motors. Wordsworth in Poughkeepsie 11.01.2014
A little man walks
Through the golden dust
It is a summer’s morning
A morning fresh and mild
As other mornings, other sorrows
He walks across roads
Where no one else walks
With a tiny wooden coffin
Tucked under his arm A Little Man 11.01.2014
On the unbolted gate to the garden of the dead I wrote
Voi che entrate and was pulled short swift and sharply
As the strain of writing in an unknown tongue rather than Yes or Know? 11.01.2014
R. ZAMORA LINMARK
It’s only 6 a.m. and already my sun
salutation is ten minutes behind
mountain standard time just means more Morning Salutation for Joe Brainard 11.01.2014
All the small griefs, the petty slights, the imagined
worst things, he’s placed them each Caged Bird Society 11.01.2014
Pin prick of pink in the solution to ensure you struck a vein,
before you push the plunger in. Brief burn then spreading Heroin Chic 11.01.2014
Came a homeless man, without a foot,
dressed up in a new canvas sack,
tied up with a belt in the usual style,
and an Alfalfa tower of hair (all in soot)
with lint in the vertical layers. Phylum 11.01.2014
Our bus downshifts cresting a hill,
and a partridge covey flushes into
the lit mist of the autumn noon, clouds
spilling over higher hills slow and white
like soft glaciers cut by massive stones
the size of fortresses, and just as cold. Song of Almería 11.01.2014