*****

The mask on my face of winter/not winter              Not Spark
not ash not rabbit vs. rabbit              Lucky is the man
who finds a hand in his pocket              Even his own
Children might be persuaded to know him              If only he were
a little more ghosted in the roses              And I were a little less
pretending not to be him              Or for that matter, anyone at all
Ambulance driver vs. “Ambulance vs. Ambulance,”
a song by the Blood Brothers I sing all day long
Then play doubles tennis and smash the village sirens
Ourselves in a long line of skeptical predicaments
Which is how we all got thoroughly arrested and had to be
paddled, our chests hooked to wires              The hours
going by us and those horses our souls  I ask only one
thing that you please remain standing              So many neurons
to thank and get jiggy              So many weirdoes in long flowing robes
Snow white accumulation, then six to ten inches              Chinese
poets and the shriek of Johnny Whitney              Truth value
quite literally a matter of fact, but all I’ve ever wanted
is a way to forget it              Time on speed so plastic/gigantic
Intention doesn’t matter when intention’s contradiction
The lingerie model under water in spring              I love my love
the way she fires


*****

“Waitress, we’re the Germs”
“of soundlessness” to “silence”
“Carpenter’s Piece” by George
Macuinas              I see through trees
I’m forty years lighter              Maples
and birches, magnolias
and blossoms—birds, filling
stations, blackberries,
foxes              Under the bed
and over our heads
So many sentences
I’ll never dare to write
33 and 1/3, a novel,
the devil
A typist mostly
happy, telling everyone
I love


*****

All we’ve got is what is not any longer              Smooth sailing stairwell
Moments under wonder              How “the sincerity’s flowing” doesn’t
change very much              No thanks for asking, and I mean that
sincerely              So there              So Sarcastic              Come down
from your network              And now we return to our regularly scheduled
friendships, the real ones, already in progress with feelings associated
and throats full of kestrels              Hello, Nate Pritts              Dusted with angels,
dancing the hoopla on the head of a pin              Tender Is the Night
The Neutron needs reminding when the Mohawk starts to blubber
To sob, to weep, to dissolve under pressure              I imagine if ever
So ripe with possibility              Tomato juice and celery              The birds
barrel into me              They have an agenda, singing bloody bloody blah
My beautiful city              Seven Hills in Cincinnati              And you on the road
interviewing for mercy              Mercy mercy uncle sky              We live the life
and we don’t die              Almost crying is almost not              Things are
looking up
in spite