Inside-Out
for Martha Diamond
Anaerobic light curves a window refracts and its speed shift endures Light that blinds character to read a face with fingertips before cameras roll Nothing provokes action better than a woman who sweeps impure color into breathing space The opposite of blindness is distortion the metaphor of the woman a vision that disappears when described Measurement not provided She is additional Light as material as hair How well it fits black black and gluey white white I swear there’s a ghost and it’s a window half past lost You haul on down the line just ‘til the empty house on the right Light turns inside-out like that Not the black of an oilcan hand Not the white of a snowbound casino You could get lost if not for the wall Black bars in versatile off-verticals Space around them as see-through loopholes where house leaves the sky to sleep in floating sweater vest X marks the transverse of reverence Millrace of sunlight among incendiary hours asleep Duty paid in sacrifice under the sun reduced to a space for unseen people yet shining Eat the sky clean of temperature Breathe under the waves above your door
Long and Rocky
I breathe too deep Day slips and retires Sags the tide’s direction Where is this tiredness bound? Wherever it can founder and layers of grit Sidewalk minus personal There are limits to brain powder and the flood lasts too long It doesn’t exchange for monotony chits The jolt when I fear for Vera’s road Long and rocky Hills steep Loud youth voices carry from the future This window opens They escape into suffrage High water mark in ventricles Heinous behavior in the log book kept by food kings Bombs? —Yeah, bombs But … the kids! —What kids?
Spit Shines
The one you get tired of The one still waits Her ball rolls into the cup and I’m not watching She obsesses that she buries something alive The only way out is to spit on spit shines medieval off-the-rack I trace her and then punch out a tune Please live over there for the next 48 states An affinity snack oxidizes the glow worm mind What you don’t expect tastes funny on the same old rock mountain The rest is rivers underground The funeral pulse: an army band Trade dreams?
Movie Blossoms
Time-time time you do in a trice The time of your life ends on film Nothing lasts pinball numbers Scrim of trees shunts in open-air court How I’d like my disorder furnished Sands move over my eyes Confession wanders off Never see true dark in an alley or in Seward Park Trouble enough to go around Movie blossoms in flatscreen dust I take its measure and walk the stones Drone and tabla with no sarod A sentiment goads where intimacy belongs Very current-century I think Earth shakes all over in front of my troth
Back in Five
Sidewalk linoleum to spill on Through the door I don’t expect charity charm or consent What else would be here? Poison inside the balloon Breath in a sandstorm escapes the laugh track There’s a warrant and a name There is clatter in the bright night The things people without identification get into in front of my door Which non-interchangeable ex do I fact check? Dust inside the rain Dubious minds at eye level Emotional swill fresh from the strainer It takes at least three minds to suss the laugh meter Don’t know yet Come back in five