Traffic

The plane moved like a cursor 
Across that screen which is

Anything but, and the relative 
Rules no one asked for

Implied it was the screen that reeled 
To move the icon of the sun

Toward its selection.
Like a loose helmet,

My dream-speech failed to protect 
My monarch skull from the cracking

Democracy of day. Clouds 
Of original pixels ranged

From big to bigger, and the traffic sound 
Was classic. We don’t know

What’s forbidden, what’s 
For bidding. For example:

An atom’s fur.
And when my face goes

Unrecognized by the locked sky, 
I can take comfort

In nothing, knowing nothing 
Is a frozen horizon, nothing

Is less like me than myself.

On the Advantage and Disadvantage of History for Life

Metal’s conveyance 
And divinity’s rude

Slap. I don’t expect 
Anything from you, nor

Birdsong of basketball 
Sneakers resemble in the mind

Frigates of stars. 
Place of place,

Going out
And being back,

Possessing faculties
En masse.

Having seen and 
Scene. I am

Sorry I am 
Like this, no

Like this. Rude water 
After the accident.

Across the plain 
Sit still stations.

Like foam atop 
Tossed sea, thought

Cannot sink and 
Cannot carrot

Tarot spokes — 
The death one

And all the others.

Break

I draw the glass
Of water to my ear,
And toward the silence it gathers 
Is pulled my intimate drum.

Like a pore,
Invisible if not blocked.

You could say I witnessed ideas 
Brawling in the gilt lobby,
Where checked in many-coated lodgers 
Of relinquished, hue-less beds
Who demanded of the concierge:

Is a thought see-through 
Like a bad blindfold?

I should speak to you directly, 
Should I not? Instead I pull 
Over as onto a shoulder,
Or around as toward 
That secret back

Where horned men exercise 
A right to bear armageddons

Into the water whose silence 
Emits a craven gravity.

Crown Shyness

Perfect every face 
And that champagne 
About to fly.

The sky is
A sheer amplitude.

Did we bring the guitar 
Down from the hill?

Alternative forms 
Of speech can feel 
To me like silence.

Here’s a thought
Which suddenly is there.

A poetry that shimmies 
Through bulging absences.

A crown a zone
Which admits the head 
As its content.

What do you know: 
Skywriting appears

As a tombstone for twenty five 
Grand, which barely covers

The cost of fuel. 
Wind in the ears like

Water ungathering
In and out of baskets.