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
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