[It’s raining here, hard enough…]

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It’s raining here, hard enough

that everyone in the laundromat

is family. We don’t talk,

because we don’t need to talk.

We can go about our moments

more in sync than wait staff,

which is a family you

can drink with,

but still have to tell where you’re going.

I don’t remember

if you’ve worked in a restaurant,

because I don’t know a thing about you,

but if you haven’t, people in a restaurant

yell, “Behind!” so no one

knocks anyone’s hard work down.

The way I’m yelling “Hello!”

over the strong ohm of the gas-

powered dryers, and through whatever space

always lingers between two people

even when they live like rain

in a safe good puddle.

 

Most Days

Most Days 1-1Most Days 1-2Most Days 2-1most days 2-2Most Days

On the hotest days of summer

I try to memorize

that Mark Strand poem

about freezing to death.

I mean in weather where you don’t know

your own face or how

many fingers you’ve had

your whole life, how many hands

your hands have touched

getting change, say,

at the store.

I don’t remember what the poems says

so let’s, you and me, agree

it says no matter what happens,

no matter what we do , we will

be loved

even if we don’t know by who

or how.

I-95

I95 1I-95 2

 

Swaddled by I-95, unsure

what I will say when

this swinging stops—

safe in the failing

green of median,

a single deer.

“Austin 3:16”

StoneCold1Stonecold2

THE TEXAS RATTLESNAKE DOES NOT FALTER

IN THE CULTIVATION OF VIRTUE. EACH MOMENT RISES

LIKE A BOTTOM LINE AND DEMANDS OF US A RECKONING

OF OUR CHOICES. DID WE, THIS DAY, DRINK OF EACH MOMENT

AS FROM A BEER CAN WITH THE TOP TORN OFF, DID WE THROW

ON THE AGILITY OF JORTS AND DEFEND THE WEAK

FROM THE TYRANNY OF THOSE RICH MEN AND WOMEN

WHO SHOULD BE STUNNED,

OR WERE WE AGAIN PERPLEXED?

COME UP, COME UP, AND SQUARE THE CIRCLE.

THE SAME THING THAT CAN BE LEARNED FROM A RAINSTORM

CAN BE LEARNED FROM STARING OURSELVES DOWN

AND WONDERING WHAT WOULD STONE COLD DO?

 

 

3 Apologies

georgemichael1georgemichael2Sorry I was late for work.

I was folding paper

into cranes and drinking orange juice

until the headaches went away.

You know, if you make a thousand birds

the dragon comes and gives you anything.

 

In the park they have tables

with chess boards built right in.

Not playing chess at all was absolutely soothing.

So much so I breathed

out a cold cloud like a zen master

might ride.

 

In short,

I was reassured.

“To Another Witch”*

russia2russia-1

We tend. We

tend. We

tend. Bread is raised

from dust.

If I’m standing

at your window,

palms flattened as in praise,

forgive me.

I just wanted to see

how warm your fire was.

 

*This person is not a total stranger. The creepiness of this poem is (I’m fairly certain) fine.