“a face / from the ancient gallery”

today i got up so late i

decided to take the bus to work. a knot of people,

a white dog dim in a totebag, squint vaguely west

where the bus’ll be rolling in. a crossingguard

motions across the way: a fenced-in schoolyard. older kids

running with games or late again. chatter dins. then pipes up

a loudspeaker, megaphone. my eyes search for what my ears can’t.

laughing baritone: it intones:

the killer awoke before dawn

and i think,

music. they must have the classics on. unfazed,

the playground games continue. he put his boots on,

the pendulum swings again, and eyes at the busstop

begin to flick uneasy. he took a face

from the ancient gallery and he

walked on dooown the hall

maybe a principal. a ranter? but as if it happens every day,

they begin to line up to go inside. the voice,

smug, deft, as if quoting shakespeare. as if

for them it might as well be shakespeare. dusted off

from the shelf:

more figurine than figure.

reliable source

seven days of
work yet. rain and chill. there’s
on the news a shooting per day and yet
another trend:
why the same headlines? i remarked
last night, sleepily, to a constallation, freckles on
the boy’s back. i mean,
why are they always finding crack in babies’ cribs?
he may have found a reply, but i was already somewhere
between dreams and tall ships. there’s so many
gaps in reporting; shoddy, infuriating. but then
i never know to ask the right
questions
’til i see the photos after:
or i ask you.

form who

ok, then don’t worry about Form B.

You never heard of Form B. If you ask me I’ll say,

“Form Who?”

press to deploy

unauthorised exit

i duck from theatre

before picture’s end. flickers

popcorn, tears, and on…

incipit

do you wish to continue?

collapsible [lyric]

ten years

collapsible and limitless:

have nothing to say; have too much.

on the shoulder of the road

a collapsing house. the girl

who’d had so much to say.

in every window wraps a tree and every

lawn of grass. they say

that’s what killed her. slogans

like oxygen. have

nothing to say, have too much. cast

her hand in everything.

collapsible

i see that ten years are

collapsible and they are limitless. i  stop

on the shoulder of the road to be peer

to that collapsing house. the young woman

who’d built her empire and then died. in every window

grew a tree and every lawn of grass, in the sardonic-

slogan 1990s, was painted with opinion. they say

that’s what killed her; she had too much; said too

much. she cast her likeness in everything.

resurgeon

opener of old wounds

explanation

stray lines: this

is how i have to say

today philadelphia

today philadelphia

never.

morning pentameter

i changed my socks and now

i’m late for work

not all is

something is not/ all is not

neophobe

n. one who is in the habit of tacking ever more phobias, like donkey tails, onto one’s own ass.

melt down

and after it all has melted

where would you find me again?

–i too awake each morning

grasping for a breath

afternoon in the square

a precarious chemistry:
configurations of people
who she is and

where she is,
and whether she should
or could.

afternoon in the square,
like flies in a tangent
they alight
and scatter.

cause and effects

cause and effects
and my hand in them.
lightning,
and if i listen,
thunder.

penny royalty

she was told, seventy two hours.
they drilled two holes in the door
for her numberplate.
she swallowed a first dose. found
a robert johnson record.
and was able to expire a minute
of sunlight like nothing happened.