PAGE POEMS
A Crepuscular Conclusion
Day falls speaking yes to night's littering hold,
its announcement borne by luciferous contractions
from which true couriers are freed to laurelled denouements.
While, sick from marching, a rider is led spoon fed to donkeywork
to reformulate an argument the postmaster returned regurgitated.
The argument armed had impressed falsely, high and meretricious;
in a sorter’s reverie it was ripened and refuted, a puff of a claim.
However, as a donkey of ripe odour inspects the rife nectar of rapturous clover,
the ass too may siphon fuel from a dumb boat's insipid motor,
the solicited addition to which is a tonic or, shall we say, a conclusion.
A Part in the Water
Pledging popular song, a lone canal fish begins to sing
coming into the river shallows, cute as a calf with ears
and it went along with the spring following the flood.
Between siren walls walking to a bloodied, narrow house.
One block was shut off due to pedestrian death,
it was walking west from the river, downtown.
The accident had occurred much earlier.
The road was closed off; we had to walk around.
I don’t know if this has happened since.
Striking out of the littoral fog a handshake
fluttered past caught on its own lowing meow.
In an inverted bowl, satellites confound the eye
shoved sideways through a crack in the sky.
A stone rolls unplanned as queuing geese mumble avalanche,
corning union of cups to coffee wet lips.
Pulp of just ground from the inhuman whet:
at the height of a dream with seraphim arranged,
measured for parts by pregnancy,
first by a lit light, then by sleep.
The idea shoved through a crack in the skylight;
a stone rolls to calm the opposition.
Mechanisms for nutrition without coffee the machines take over.
A distraught map forgets the reading before
of paper dissolving at the height of surgery.
Cigarettes have taste that is regret to the lips.
Leave you with the feeling of being left standing
when the others have become other than.
Falling apart in the war; the water they marched over.
Now that we're deep into late capitalism, what happens next.
dear jc
dear jc,
for so many fish
thank you
for bringing them
we liked the lobsters, the shark
the cool skin
and the octopus
you brought to our school.
The New Wolves
It’s been a month since
the wolves descended from airplanes
on bubbles and blew out the moon;
casting tracks filled by glass soldiers
lit up, on blocks:
sentinels, silent at dusk.
The children are on the lake
to rouse kites to stillness
and the sound is slowly familiar
from a collapsed anteroom.
When they ride saddle less
with the full moon at dawn
the spiders will awaken
as puppets strung in new suits
attending a ventriloquist’s voice.
b being still
beauty can be found
b being still
stood outside the gate
ages did was too shandy
meant much from the high place
wants mountain makes tea
mould can be lurching
ice ovr a little told
tells skimming in a float plane
slicks picked unsanguineous
safe to raise that arm again
the one with the pen in it
a tattooist decrees left to right
countermand stuff of crime
graphemes extracted simmering
man while manshie d d flew
faced me the reflection floats
in here this side of mirror
said i heard stood what was stolen
poondle basha full trash na go
alright i said fistula
genria janria chip kelta
stiff off the surface stick
stooshing mouth off walk
smooth schnorkel pipe smoker
strokes the shimmering water
a face stoking through the gate
pillows a sail on a rise futuring
