Friday, June 03, 2005

1649

NO

I feel the xylophone bonging
In the basement and I know
I'm not supposed to acknowledge
This restive midden. I stare.
I make jokes, fall asleep,
Pursue a course of people-pleasing
That flares with creep light.
I buy newspapers and drink coffee.

Music keeps me at a length
From this feeling on both sides
Of too much asked. The mother,
Is she sick or not? Piercing
Sounds come from the migraine.
Is my mother sick or not. Is she
An alien, and therefore am I one.

Cicadas and crickets like gold coast
Sprinklers, gold is green.
I run across a field but why
Is endlessly implied. The same goes

For drinking a root,
Walking the length of a stream
From culvert to spider'd culvert.
Alone doesn't care
If we're alive, ambassador
From the kingdom of silence
To the boy who's quiet too
Except around the word of the day.