from THE NERVOUS FILAMENTS (2010)
WOLF SPIDER
It was raining inside
that picture on the wall
and the single tree
had a brown side backing a red
lacquer of trembling
leaves
an exodus
a consciousness quick on its legs
so it was with these stabs
of things seen through the wakefulness in this other boy
his vertebrae tingling
the frame emitting pure static
(inside it a freight
train shook all the milkweeds)
the briers so bad even her socks were bloody
stuck in the neck on a thorn in that single tree
I did check the bedroom
now the windows were open
WHO BUT I, O RECKLESS DEATH
It’s a secret,
the blackness . . .
swimming at the heart of it
Skull open
like a pool in Beverly Hills
the way the antibiotics travel
(she wears no greatcoat)
love flung outward
the geese half-mated with swans
the blood on their wings
and so it is with the sand and the speckled eggs
two boats
two boys
trees film over with ice in the middle of summer
her hair keeps flying out of her open mouth
an owl dies on its branch
another Monday on the ring of Saturn
A COUNTY ROAD
A circle goes around a branch
it's a mirror of grief's ecosystem
one rhythm, two feet . . .
a duplicate radiance the water implies
because it's watching too
green herons in a panic under the raceway nets
the largest sturgeon emerges
and spits a fine pile of shells into a basket of roots
pastoral as purgatory
head not heavenly with clouds
feet swinging above terra firma
And the day before yesterday?
Everything nothing
she finally stepped off the heavy table and waited
tunnel sinking and then rising under the Detroit River
all of her sisters singing together with their eyes squinting shut
no hidden agenda
no discussion the next morning
ROMANTIC
You
and the weather inside you
the Graham crackers the blue jay flips and eats
a certain lack of love
after all that's your head in the window
looking out
through rain
through snow
lonely lonely
One of the new jobs we have is dating
you work in reality TV—
the myth of the soul mate
The new staircase covered with sub-prime money
then carpet (chiropractor green)
is part of it . . .
Couples holding hands with silk over their nude bodies streaming
past stars during Ascension . . .
Erase it all remember the scotch pine, the shovel under the streetlight
driving with Kim
the way the flakes dimpled
the surface of our cups of hot chocolate
They shredded the moon again she said about the falling snow
THE SEVENTIES
Singly, right from birth frankly,
I'd find the shadow
That was leaning like a tree
Away from my father.
The cherry blossoms shook in the Massachusetts . . .
A bit of the pilgrim
In it
Polished wood floors
Sunshine and the sexuality of chocolate
First, there was the business
With the lawyers,
And the rolling boat of my bed,
The room bright in deep water
For the waving of the lobster claws.
I moved with the clouds,
Pencils turned into cigarettes.
And then she's under you,
Smelling of sheetrock, stained by antibiotics,
Half-naked,
Crying on the apple-moss.
THE OTHER WATER
Lake with the invisible coast
and the February fog
it's true she had trouble breathing
you stack your social
skills on top
multiplication tables in your daydreams
like sleeping in an oxygen tent . . .
I was the one
everyone wanted her taste on their fingers
that smell of exhaust in your hair
joint after joint
Connie on the greenest moss
she died
they die
Caves where you go to live
houses on fire
the boat
she didn’t want me to see her under a certain light
I AM NEVER GOING BACK
Come in. Listen to the wind
express itself.
Inveigle a dying dream.
I like my antelope feminine—
marinated in a closet . . .
But I came necessary to masturbation
like a key deer.
It’s what the oceans bring.
(Younger and younger, they all wear body-belts.)
Thread in the eye,
the world grows smaller as the guts spill forth.
A splinter of desire, a “Manuel” trade.
(no one’s ready for some football . . .)
And the laughing through the walls.
“The shoes, the shoes.”
I’m tired of pathos.
This window looks out over all I own.
LAKE GENESERATH
Orangutans
an oddity by any measure—
a seminal experience
breakthrough surrounded by strollers
a ring of ice blue in the wolf's eye . . .
phlebotomist takes a bite of salad
a fissure in the vein
the face you imagine contorts underneath your own
Poke, someone says in a child's voice . . .
Way out in the mist of some lake an animal shoots itself
nobody speaks
his boat is one thing to love
the only thing moving for miles
FIDELITY TO RAPTURE
Long morning past, still drinking
shock therapy on the beach, a haze of
gnats turning orbital . . .
it's this sand like an infestation
and the wind flipping a volleyball net . . .
O Harry Callahan
the silence surrounds you
already halfway to that deeper place
a gull runs along
the water's edge
rush of blood to the cerebral cortex
grass and twigs inside a jar for the walking stick
smell of a just-opened bag of pot
And childhood
the barking frog who used to live under my bed
those miraculous ribbons of smoke and the first cigarette . . .
Eleanor with her face turned
away from you
posing for the world and it's manifold trees
I was just saying you never really
come to the end of this pier
