A Shovel the Only Sound

My mom often said he wasn’t the man
running down the stairwell in the garden . . .

                    When she was found, she was lying on her face.

And I made one big mistake tonight.
I did not call to the Holy Spirit or whistle My lordy, lordy.

     Nin Andrews | Something Else
     Charles Reznikoff | Domestic Scenes
     Blas Falconer | Dear Friend
     John Giorno | I Resigned Myself to Being Here
     David Biespiel | Marvel


Almost Up to Modernism

Here is a factory made fresh by broken windows.
Columns constructed from delirious dust
split into a roomful of pictures that shimmer along walls
speaking in tongues,
destroying the Lake Poets in the process.

     Elaine Equi | A Bouquet of Objects
     Diane Ward | Lovely Stuff
     Donna Masini | Nightscape
     Yusef Komunyakaa | “Everybody's Reading Li Po” Silkscreened on a Purple T-Shirt
     Michael Davidson | Thinking the Alps


Thick Clouds Conspire

O, I’m the man who sailed those early seas
with a pair of wooden spoons on an oil drum,
holding quiet conversations with an early moon.
Key West sank downward under massive clouds
you will feel against your ankles as you pass through.

         Langston Hughes | Let America Be America Again
         Elizabeth Alexander | Praise Song for the Day
         Amy Lowell | Lilacs
         Wallace Stevens | Farewell to Florida
         Lucie Brock-Broido | Domestic Mysticism