4 - Joseph Cooper

And she gulps down the healing charisma of 
the doctor, the grave glance of his face as he 
bends over the cluttered desk writing the 
prescription, and the kindly curl of his mouth 
as he raises his silvered head and says

                                  this work shall live tonight in a
                                  rich and beautiful country 
                                  tumbling down the side of a 
                                  mountain pitched licentiously 
                                  onto someone else’s breath a cry 
                                  of friends on the dock at night 
                                  crossing the marsh down in the 
                                  ditch wings of grasshoppers 
                                  chiming rhythmic bliss for girls in 
                                  short shorts on bicycles riding by 
                                  to charm the mustache off your 
                                  old dance their bodies knowing so 
                                  much more than our heads and 
                                  after they take you for a ride they 
                                  sing a shepherd’s song to sheep




Men have flown to the moon and back, others 
have swapped their hearts for new hearts, 
nuclear bombs have exploded, millions have 
fled into the huge electrical cities and you


                                        out of deep need in certain 
                                        concord with reason ask me 
                                        where I’m from as if madness and 
                                        ecstasy no matter where you are 
                                        bearing odyssey determine loss I 
                                        think of Jared’s stoned eyes this 
                                        house and never mind the storm 
                                        considering what keeps company 
                                        of love it would be better to hear 
                                        birds gentle mortal than this baby 
                                        wailing as if to make an ass of me 
                                        I suppose there is nothing truer 
                                        than unequal love





All of this is occurring daily—in hospitals, 
clinics, and doctors’ offices, as well as on 
radio, television, and everywhere else that 
people gather new sets of narratives to 
mingle with their own

                                       dear damp black cellar dear
                                       dumbfool breath dear daisies 
                                       dear cocked rifle dear they should 
                                       have taught you more dear grace 
                                       come from knowing dear gone 
                                       sky dear tomorrow dear he who 
                                       loves nothing dear firefloodlava 
                                      dear man out of love dear patient 
                                      father dear angry son dear 
                                      smooth blonde cool dear patched 
                                      and worn dear this sensation I




The broken fragments of our humpty-dumpty 
world these


                                    terrible things coming up a gentle 
                                    christening if only my friend 
                                    would return the end of the world 
                                    to leaky boats—clutched hope 
                                    comes from remembering things 
                                    like your stories dragged me a 
                                    thousand miles under a clear 
                                    silent processional of stars— 
                                    mandolin queries rattling my 
                                    closed throat