Leftovers
a flim-flam morn
cabbage without corned beef
fantasyless plate
cordial, not the drink, but polite
this clump of days
this cowtipping of minutes
stale breath, wreath of weeds
grandeur in its grandmother’s
blouse.
Untitled
what wild
flown flowers
broken pet-
als slit suns
caught between explosions
built of filament
melt of spring
(I forget my season.)
The Domestication
eyes like 2 fistfuls of sky
ever-fraught with relationship
the sloped
southern spill of words
coughed out in a fit
of conventional conventional
grace lawn drawn to size and
rectangular deforested
wild beauty mangled
fringed
w/ a few bundt pan-like
divots
and eaten by polite mouths in two’s.
An incidental scene
conversational as rolled-up
sleeves, no valley of lilies but a sunflower
its forlorn bigness
toiled moonlessly
in the night
a Government of Ants
the philosophy of legs
spelling, building things
maybe pyramids a little
track and field for the
dry diplomatic
face of patience.