Category: 58 @ 29
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CSA Potluck — from 58 poems written at 29
Ciders spiked and the simmering wild rice that she rendered in a root soup for the CSA staff and Martín as we planned produce. Patience is a talked dialog dance. We drive one another nutso with no thought To listen along out of love for the mind Of fellow men: we fight for time to…
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Evil is My Disease — from 58 poems written at 29
Boethius claimed badness or the wicked Or evil is a disease, even as weakness Wanes the body. Well, then, I Am so sick, my friend. See my shakes? See my quaking? Soothing balms Of wiser words evade my mind And its dreaming machine. A dry and an arid Landscape was seeded along the trenches Of…
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Yoke of the Mother — from 58 poems written at 29
A Queen is a King who carries the weight Of the world within her. Enwombing the younglings And entombing their titles, taking their passings On a pilgrimage or a parade. Powder she spreads — The ashes of embers that echo the flames Of memories marking men and their gains And lovings or leavings. The leftovers…
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A Drizzle in Brooklyn — from 58 poems written at 29
A drizzle in downtown Duenweg is something Like my wife waking and the water of her shower Misting me while I make my chin Clean with the cutting. The crisp mist Is a walk by a wayward water fountain Or a splash pad. Spread the mist Over the evening and aim it at me And…
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Upon Finding Your Old Prison Letters and Prayers — from 58 poems written at 29
It was freezing and fire and filled with the smell Of men who made due with maybe two Pairs of britches and who probably shat One anyways in the evening. Yet over it all You sing your song of something like a hope Or a cosmic comedy, of a careful need To never neuter the…
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Greenwood Cemetery Graves at Snowfall — from 58 poems written at 29
Snow on the stones, salts and ices That garnish the graves. Greenwood waits For the day when dawn doffs the wrappings And garments of granites, the garland of a robe Or a blanket’s mask on the bleak pillars Like condoms or clasps of copper bracelets Or the hood of The Grim. How will their clothing…
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Home — from 58 poems written at 29
You yanked up years of dreaming When they pulled the plug out. Powerful longings — How they flounder in flame. But fleeting are the ways Friction frees us: it frames our pains But tames truth — is the time we spend Bitter a better base for erecting Tomorrow’s morning? Minds fashioned After the evening will ever…
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Pane — from 58 poems written at 29
Light leaks in lifting the spirit Of this glass-surfaced glittering kitchen Table and my letters. To tend to many Things in thin-air — this is a way To illumine our love. For light, it shines On to it and up to it, undergirding Its place in our plane. The panel of glass-surface, Framing our fictions, fades…
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Vulnerare
In the Christmas Carols are the covered truths About the battered beauties who then love Despite the signs, the signaled fears That cue our cowing, that create our fights And fletch our flights with the feathers of something That kidnaps our courage. They execute a Plan as if plotting, as if placing a mole Merrymaking…
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Pigeons and Turtledoves
Watch and the world withers before you As you sit and sip. Seats on the peaks Of stool stumps rock. Staying on wheels Lateral that lean? Like we are just sliding Towards the wakes? Towards the streets And their dangerous drakes? Dream about biding Time and the tide. Teach the childer How racist we aren’t.…
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To Jack Across the Sea
We two met in the one Irish New York pub known and still run by Eires like you. Our talking it turned up tragic: tuition, writers from the thirties rotting. These comic thoughts, these ideas interrupted the oral momentum: translucent roofs true to Spiderman, blurred and iron // blank and fragile— clichés are the things…
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Mother of Exiles
Eight-hundred. Their open mouths Similarly sing songs we all know Though know not: their tongues — they show No face cards. Nimble, demure, go ghosts Of the Mind of God, mad sod made sad, Triangle eyelids, squares and trundle sides, But they’re still eyes, you know. Stopping together They see as one. Smell as one though…