The cicada buddhas chirp
I just sit
The summer storms threaten
Every day about now, about 5,
Quitting time closing over the sky
Like a lazy eye dragging a headache behind
Hitched to its timid shawl.
And in the cataloging of wonder
What many loves might have been?
Prescriptions, banns a-wither on the vine,
The cracked corn drops like busted rosary beads,
Pinging off the ground so dry, drier still
It repels the thunderbursts.
The clouds stacking against themselves.
Bumped up against one another
As if they can’t get out of here fast enough
And often do before release
Like a man with breakfast already on his mind
One way or another whatnot and what have you
Never breaking the day
Never telling us what we have truly lost
But leaving that up to us.
The coolness comes from walking fast
While stepping softly, kicking up dust,
But you still can’t
Sneak up on yourself:
It’s a dream troubled by sleep.
The tome is a time bomb
No longer an innocent conflagration
But a fully flowered concern.
And a certain violence
Has visited the domain.
The terrain trembles in terror.
We huddle like malign masses.
I call through the smoke
Of burning Autumn Leaves
To the world we built for children
But have run out of time to rectify.
So now let’s turn our attention
Away from our feet
Where they have always been,
Solidly on the ground,
And commence with spinning webs
Made from sugar
And hang them like bunting
On the 4th of July
While waiting for dinner to arrive.
“The sad empty places of retrospective experience”
Hasten the present and outrun us
To our graves which in turn are filled by-and-by –
- An expensive haircut
- A good job
- An untucked shirt
- All of the above
There is no closed door
There is no record that is “off-the-record”
I have seen three people this morning,
All middle-aged men,
Wearing braces on their right hands
From the knuckle to the wrist –
Either there is a carpal tunnel epidemic sweeping the metropolitan area
Or bowling season has begun
Sparrows dine al fresco off the ground on the patio
Eating the crumbs of the egg, pumpernickel and
Even the various and sundry detritus of everything bagels,
Pecking quickly, without prejudice, before flying off.