no. 60
and now a confession:
I have no patience for long
psychological novels
no. 61
on the radio a deep discussion
on the trust bridges of chimpanzees
makes me question
the solvency of moonbeam
no. 62
pondering then these trust bridges
I resort to the bildungsroman
a room full of chimpanzees
writing on a series of abacuses
the next great streaming series
no. 63
What now, then? This painted sky
a detailed anatomy of sighs
the conclusion of interlude
an ellipses
no. 56
On a quiet Sunday morning
yes Georgi the world still moves
the white caps bounding upriver
like misplaced salmon
souls swimming northbound
in search of home
and the perfect stovepipe hat
no. 57
We tell ourselves sweet stories
don’t we? Fall and fall and fall
the picture cast in imperfect tense
as the sports radio jockeys rail
imagining more perfect seasons
while the impatient wind waits for a sail
no. 58
My walking stick led me to the river
then broke itself unable to go further:
it’s all in the currents now
the wind the water the train and tug
no. 59
a pack of whitecaps and a tug
you feel the boat underfoot a’dancin’
Train whistles and the shop heater clicks
kicking on the barges move even more silent
there is one rat yet left
and here we are
boarded in behind heavy winter doors
there is talk of low water
there is talk of melted snow depending
there is talk and train whistles
and the click of the shop heater
