If only a quiet taxidermist moved in this time! Imagine, he’d sew fox paws all night, polish the delicate nails until they shone like black glass. Or a silent movie actress running her old films with shaking, arthritic hands, the reels barely clicking. Why not a crabby postman unpacking canvas sacks stuffed with dead letters…
We sit here on the window sill in the little chairs high above the snow. You wear your summer skin behind your eyes— clear as this window pane.
A god was a time tub and A mane was a name but God mite saw and but a Tub dog—saw and mite a Saw saw dog but was god Was tub but saw a but Saw dan—was a time tub But god was a time and Shut up Art Garfunkel Uskers
A woman sobs on the toilet. Hearing her through the wall, I imagine the pink lace unraveled from her nightgown as she strokes her knees. Upstairs there’s a pop. I suppose a retired barber spread lather on a balloon to test his swollen hands; now he’ll hang himself. No, perhaps two teenagers shyly undressing for…
weeps into a faded finger bowl watches the tears evaporate in air measures the salt each day meanwhile her children spit to keep the plants alive
As for my photographs Print regardless What more can I tell them Print regardless
the curve is a hill pending
What happens in the Plains States— It’s not by any brilliant design that The roads are symmetrical on the maps Straight up and down straight across There are few hills and homes It saves money and pavement to build That way it’s just roots common sense— If I braided the roads around Nebraska And Kansas…
just a few miles before it went down it was covered with a cloud so that the edges of it were clear no rays and it looked like a huge full moon and I thought about looking into it pretending it was the moon and knowing all the time it was the sun looking in…
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