1807
I have burrowed under. It's warm here,
But dark. I have hoarded memories of light
And air, stacked them up against a bird
Who tells me the time by folding himself
Into sleep. Almost everybody has a family,
A group of friends, and a blank wall
If they're wise they keep behind them.
I don't close my eyes to tell you the story,
And still I can follow your breathing
To where your game of concentration
Has hidden the juggling rings. Come here.
1806
THE PLACE OF FEAR
I wasn't assimilating the bean-rays
When twisty daylight compounded
All the interest from here to San Diego,
I was thinking of bringing you
All-you-can-eat good news,
The wedding of time and light
In the garden of little doubt.
There was a third person in the car
Telling me to drive faster. You
Were versed in her sweetness
And how the pressure of the hills
Played on the chassis like ribbon candy,
The pretty shit that tranquilizes
The repeated messages of billboards
To check-out our midseason replacement,
Shake the governor's martini,
Do what for lack of water the greenery
Can only dream about. Prompted
To be grateful, I looked like someone
Told to look alive. It was work.
You know what, though,
Let the focus groups say if reasoning
Would enjoy a comeback, I'm supposed
To stay home under the bed
Until the hovercars are in production?
I don't have the answers but I do
Know how to stay on message:
The consistent world and surprise
Have a thing for each other.
What, you want smug and pithy?
1804
THE HERO, WHAT WE WANT HIM TO DO
He shows up in the middle of the meeting
And fires a starter pistol.
He steps in front of the running water
Staring intensely at the city
Until the schools improve
He cracks a smile
He fuses the alien egg
He dreams a new life for television
The assembled villains of the oil grab
Cannot keep him from transmitting
The make-out session of his truth
Even the Assistant Professor is stymied
Sounds of IBM Selectrics
Swirling bundles of newspapers
The slight eyebrow arch
Before the next story begins
We sit up late waiting for him to come home
Playing a game involving lit plasma tubes
1803
Cocoa, you fall for the "dream flu"
When story hour mergers brighten up
The yick budget. I understand having
Those administration carnivals
To spice up the me-toos, but like
Valery Giscard d'Estaing,
I am the child of an occupation
I have fought all my life not to repeat.
You can guess how that turns out.
1802
When I step out of the camera bag
It's glowing blue on the midden
And quiet neighborhoods have produced
More shimmering niceties than
The headache farm you call your art.
Still, I will lift my zap-rayed self
Up alongside you on the bleachers
To wait through the whistling,
The coughing of shovels, the warm days
The season spreading visibly this way
Leaks occasionally, like bubbles.