ecotonal innards
flattened squirrels
it's not that hot but
everyone says it is
minnesota, good city
all kind of withdrawal
sigh your little sigh
what else, but without end, to feel--
you might as well stop
the bad world, the one we live in:
no one sees it as such. sigh your
little sigh. the neighborhood blasts
how could they not be? how could they be anything other than
the blasts this week in Dhaka, Istanbul, Baghdad
coming home to roost?
living at the poles, it's possible to feel
you've no part in them, in any of it, except all of it
if you take words in your mouth, they'll likely come back up again
as ether
thistle troves rarefied--
anyone who lives after
may also mistake the airs
of this midsummer flowering
(sentient nostalgia, what else?)
for the descent of cluster flies
fleeing.
No comments:
Post a Comment