Fresh Gear

That two-way facelift’s like a plate-glass wall
Between you and the rest of what’s coming, push-
Button targets floating at the edge of sight.
A finger is tracing the porthole edge
Of an ink-stained cup: this highway’s built
Especially for turning off of.  Digestion
Is a scarf tied with a single knot,
Pulling tighter until the wearer fits.
I’m making the in-flight pitch for pairing
One water source with another, one
Shut eye riding another’s lid.

Our much-sought-after business plan
Calls for knock-kneed pictures to take the place
Of every failed argument.
Every leg has its own sleeve, wired
And glued together like a city block.
No one will ever be bored.  I can’t
Tell you how much we appreciate
Your blinking in and out, your dead-
Man’s-float in the receding lake.







 
Rematch
Flash Gordon is facing the tattoo artist
In a track-level battle of wishes, cap
Pulled low to avoid prohibited loud noises
And the kind of people who wear “Super Chick”
T-shirts as the train tilts rightward.  My tongue
Aches from work, L.A. spread out
Under the searchlights of the transit authority.
This is the stare of the well-placed heart,
All that talk seeming like a vibrant C
In the lockbox under the seat.  Expressions
Of appropriate wonder are tolerated, so long
As what really matters remains quietly covered
By a gauzy veil of judgment, sitting
At the dining-room table without speaking, waiting
To be entertained. She won’t know what’s what
In the new varieties even now taking shape
In the walled gardens beyond the beltways.  She
Is reading the book called “Woman,” carefully
Marking each page with dander, eyes
Tracking the unmoving words.










  
Waiting Room [1]

A natural history of
the face-off: buzz
like water or grass.
The necessary titration
of fallacy: truth.
A bronze-age
mating game severs
top from bottom.
This lab’s balanced
on a tipping point.











 
Waiting Room [2]

Where have all the
salmon gone?
Three peaks in one
day: did you
check in at the sitting
date?  The great
provider says tomorrow’s
okay.  I have a 
slight ache downward,
held like wine.











 
Elephant & Castle [10]

Wood coiled
beyond bearing, royal

ham turned, greening,
on the dogward edge;

whereas I read
bridge for barking, side

over side, into
the wool-warm gain.

How hill
below heathway, how

swiss the eel-rich
sea?
	Act on

town: ford
north through fulling

fields: nor lose
what grain buoys cross-

hatch, debting down.











 
Elephant & Castle [11]

Coiled wood
royal, bearing beyond

greening, turning ham
edgeward on the dog;

I read, whereas,
barking bridge, for side

into over, side
the warm, gain wool.

Hill, how
below, how heathway,

swiss eel, the rich
act?
	On sea,

ford town:
fulling north through

losefields: nor
cross-grain what buoys

debting down hatch.