our true form is the blurb
full moon in a clear October sky
on page 215 of my notebook
ice cream machine
rejects my crumpled dollar
stairwell dark behind the fire doors
pale grey of the leafless woods
what you get if you see a stranger
as parallel to danger
a toy train endlessly
circles the table-top track
one drawer in the kitchen
just for assorted junk
the wrong pen here
because the right one is missing
the ink does not sink in
but rests atop the papers grain
a gleam in the grease of it clots
whenever the lines changes direction
a small gazebo constructed over an old well
and next door a utility substation
sheer red brick
last house in the woods
leaves their Christmas lights on
outdoors through the night
paintings purchased entirely for their frames
so she becomes a constructor of margins
the alarmed door sounds
young workers
in identical shirts
stampede towards the exit
lone cardinal watches from a branch
squirrels beneath waiting for the
dropping seed
small fluorescent night light
for the bathroom
my son calls it
rectangular moon
woodpecker taps at the oak
at the break of dawn
Post a Comment