The moon still full, gleaming on the bones of the moment
the earth aglow in the imminence of this bare
albedo— a called bank shot over
the sun’s shoulder, the forlorn witness
to late winter’s wringings the truth known
hand to hand with the here and there, this machine
a dreadful sharpening, a narrowing by number
naming the graces of the ricochet once
the race runs downhill, the drip drop
drum machine drubbing the ambience,
the founder in the fathoms as
physics takes a picture and science takes a slice.
The days keep changing, today always the same
dull hungers and sharpened appetites, the marker
moving in clockwork around the wheel
the world always ends up, consequence and
continuity marking exes on the calendar
page after page all aches and odds.
Oh, such breathless dreaming caught in
the exquisite muzzle flash, the endless
game of Russian roulette a bubbling of
hammer snaps, a flurry of flashes when
at last we are caught fully mortal
naked and helpless where we run out of road.
You can see the weather wander down
the walls, the sky suddenly a crow cleansed blue
casting incomprehensible manga across
the grubby ceiling, pressing stanzas through
the blinds against this witness, the circuit
words makes once the ghost says so
long, ash flecked mementos and photos
waiting on the phone, the matters
that prove my mettle all
pot pot kettle kettle. Here waving
tattered blessings in the chill winds yet
to blow, drifting with the broken
traction at the turn of phrase somewhere
between the scare and the crow
something happens that stays unknown.
The rain falls and falls.