Some vestiges of rage, some of nerves, this is as good a foto as any

In these moments of deferred action

When the musts spread like a web

From what feels like your heart

It’s hard to feel the calm of the universe

Or any of the vestiges of home

In the fabrics or patterns or pillows;

Instead, there’s the pump

Of the alien liquor, and the quiet

Unsettle of your blood

Yes, child, this, too, will change,

Because anything not in motion is illusory

And it just shows you what was the meaning

Of how you were watching it -

/ You believe though that does not calm you now

Later there will be action, and strenuous demands

But for now feel the reeling open,

And feel what it feels to live, and lose your breath

It’s a fragile skin

That registers the bite

Of your kiss


Others would pass

I imagine

And just do their job

Through dawn


But there’s no stopping

This confession now

Or the blood

behind


Just as the wind

Threads us

Like ice water

At night on the icy pavement


So I’ll keep

You wrapped

Inside


Because these nerves

On such a blue ball day



Can’t last

After all

Seven in the morning and it's foggy outside

Like it's been Every other day

And a bit of light in the room

Shines on empty glasses

And all the little white surfaces

Dawn is nderneath the building

You feel it in your loins

Or what claims to be them

All the dark pillows keep packing the heat

On what could have been

Another staging

Or another rehearsal

For the greatness

That will always Come

white-out from the sixth floor

somewhere beyond these glass and rugs

are asphalt and grime

the kind that stick you right in the nose

they're cold, itching their way back under the skin

to the blood and milk of the earth

and above it's just fog dissolving the cosmos

carving space from space

that couldn't care less

about the silence of your observation