Something Like Courage
1.
  Find a storm, find resolve, draw
  On its raw quality; express free
  From absolute objects, reserve
Absolute judgment.
2.
  Right of the object, objectively sub-
  Jective (not part of the poem’s ob-
  Jective, more acutely [full of rights], full
  Of lights. Oh yes, an old man on a merry-go-round!),
  Agile flight—vibrant, ringed in gold
  And umber, sunsoaked like an effervescent
  Chemical reaction or some form of transport.
A variable species.
3.
  Insects winging toward day, not taut
  Or pretentious, excessively sensitive—
  And, Dear Lad, stinging. (I mean no offense.)
  A forever burrowing into subterranean airports.
Mostly offensive less offending.
4.
  As if we had been stray bullets, or indeed,
  Pieces of buckshot as if the side-
  Walk cafes and their steaming frappuccinos,
  As if all the Frenchmen in the world might
  Play the fiddle.
Easy to say: et ceterea et ceterea.
5.
  Let us find a consonant without easy listening,
  With a full wingspan, and to our surprise
  This extremely small, slightly resistant
  Sparrow—more than a tramp—a kind Chaplinesque bird,
  But particularly the sparrow, that bundle
  Of good intention, holds its head well.
An opening gambit.
6.
  I have written several masterpieces
  With several tragic actors. Let’s call it
  “Estimated,” let’s call it “unfledged.”
  Concerning the matter of the rereading, well
  It all has to do with balance and flight,
  Not the progress of science: what we want
  To describe—a process of nothing—the quality
  Of each thing and a recompense on canvas.
I think I’ve discovered my wings.
Inedible
  The ferryboat smells of something approximating
  Sulfur and crude oil. We stand on the jetty.
  There’s a gentle knocking as if the earth
  Were trying to hold still. Frayed plastic bags
  Float in the dockyards. I can read a few:
  Bonus, Max Best, Indran’s Dollar Emporium,
  Cash Corner, Sanigore’s Choicest Cheapest.
  The stones have faces here—each of them
  Minor gods cemented in, observing the mess
  Of foam, spill, vegetable stalks and plastic.
  The skipper draws back his mouth in an uneven
  Smile, a crate of small fish in his lumbering
  Hands. A red snapper stares straight through us.
  On a day like this, everything keeps moving,
  Everything piled under a watchful eye.
  At dusk, the garbagemen pick up the remains,
  Living or dead, wrapped in newsprint or cell-
  Ophane, in a sheen of grease or a quiet dust
Of air.
  Strangely, there’s no defiant struggle, not
  Even an sound. You’d expect the swell
  Of angry voices, you expect the ground
  To break beneath your soles, but the weight rolls
  Effortlessly into larger plastic containers
  Where they become the food of the future.
  There’s no precedence to buy and buy things
  To throw into the mouth of empty space.
  Someone’s always dreaming of fast profits—
  From the mineshafts of the Transvaal
  To the sandstone quarries of the Szechuan—
  Each of them digging deeper into forgetfulness.
  Later, up in the mountains, the blue sea
  Catches up with the night sky.
A Modern Prometheus
“There is something at work in my soul, Which I do not understand.”—Mary Shelly
  There was a therapeutic plan, yet at the École
  You were more affected than ceremonial.
  You were lavished, comfort-seeking, only
  Here-and-now, and those murmurs along
  The boardwalk When you sought your arti-
  Ficial sleep, diving into coral reefs,
  Wreathed in garlands of seaweed. Those
  Were the murmurs of old beards, homage
  To the ancient world tainted by carhorns.
  Yes, you shouldered the planet. Miraculous
  Really! So how does one create you?
  You sat there in the Piazza, by the fountain
  Feeding pigeons yesterday’s bread, boys
  Were leapfrogging, girls hopskotching, and
  You in your head with King Lear and Cordelia.
  You stared skyward thinking tragedy and
  Everything dissolved into smoke and ash. Trifles
  Really (but not like your Grandma made
  With lots and lots of sherry and cheeries). I know
  You’re thinking of providing the stimulus
  Package they need. If only the canal
  Were less parallel we might not talk
  About fantasies, instead we obey all orders,
  Our noses pressed to the plateglass.
  The years, if we had any, are working against us.
  Or perhaps you can die twice?