Here at the world’s great wound
tug boats insist themselves
against the current: we are
lashed dockside the old boats sing
only I am hear to listen
Category Archives: 2022
no. 68 (revised)
It’s all a knot of patch cables —
memory. Nostalgia. That seed
bunker in Antarctica. An archive
built around a mole man
designed to encourage
the scourging of imagination
the exchange of wings for wires.
no. 67
The slipstream stops, and
stepping back into time
it is just past 3 in the morning
Debussy on the radio
yes a radio, still
that stretched connection
between and not —
each shift a goodbye
each round up and down
one more
hello: there is
no hiding here.
This new Earth swallows us
then — what?