the End of March

Hanging out the top
Of the car's window:

Child-locked
Against us,

Half-way down
Half closed.

This too-cold month
Fully screened

Our receiving
A vital dose

Of sustenance that
Winter can't give us.

All of it
Is disgruntled

About not getting
Anything for Easter

But for what
It bought itself.

Drive way gravel
Still frozen

All of them
Alone together.

[One cannot write the epigram]

One cannot write the epigram
Before the epic—"the cart

Before the horse," you know
Just like they say. Where

Pregnant woods prognosticate
On the leitmotif's design.

The spangled thrilling oft upon
Our conversation's mode—I'm wrong.

The rave located in the—.

the Arts

Your mixing metaphors
Team taught—tag team
Tearing them apart.

The wall screen glowing
as she types slowly:
"google map," into
the Google search bar.

We are all tired.
How can I maneuver
my way around lunch?

Fight at the Dinner Party

Punch in the face.
The blow hit warmly

Tearing dermis from
The muscle beneath.

The blow bequeathed.
It burned white hot

Along the cheek bone
Red blood, dried brown.

the Unwound Cord

Just bring in the unwound cord
The untoward and finite measure

It's my pleasure to deny
The limits of your glow-limned eyes.

Our chalk-line limitations sing
And raise stray hairs along stray thighs.

Stay Strong Friends, Spring is on the Way

Snow,
Browning Grass
that they put in
before the final thaw.

Everyone re-closing
the storm windows
this morning,
because the wind's cold.

Go walking,
easing, down the iron
fence tops—stalking,
while Weather's

torsion's tearing
us apart.
Balance loosing
bearing. Take heart!

Staying Broken Up in Alaska

You said: "Stop seeking!"
He didn't budge. The nature's

Overwhelming sludge. Your
Run through with a steel harpoon.

When finally resumed,
You're leaking polar ores.

Grey trails of gore ballooned
From your subtle, fragile pores.

the Integral Text

—somtimes it's in Greek
And it's persona

(Like Mary, or Joseph's)
Is to obliquely seek.

You need to read this.
All of your life could be,

Like, a bazillion seas,
Like a dalliance or tryst.

100 Sunni Tribal Fighters

Iraq forces sécurité:
Five thousand of the Queen's Army,

One hundred Sunni tribal fighters
We will commit whatever

Else is needed—ever.
Like adolescent overnighters.

Every Year's an Election Year

Some change is for the better.
Butter reamed on gobs of bread.

And honey spread like viruses
From head to head. Out of pot:

This optimism's really not
The ample missive of Pretend.

Sunday Night

All the things we hate are here
Huddled round this glowing sphere.

Their backs an interlinking wall.
I would like to know as well

Why this evening is a hell.
The instant message torrent here

Is a quiet creeping fear
Skittering on gilded limbs.


You can have your drink right there
And I will nurse my drink as well.

You on that sofa and me
On the chair—but be quiet.

Chicago, Winter

Winter is the cruelest
Month, and everlasting.

Your icy-wet Chicago slogs
from bog to bog. From

Home to bus or train.
Communicating pain through

Hand to nose, hand to
Mouth to hand. The

Winter's planned to
Bring us all wet shoes.

All my human strength
extruded. Through and through.

the Painted Room

If you want to not feel
Important: Paint a room.

That debt resumed making
Every man Inertia's groom.

Minutia has subsumed.
Your pants—paint stained.

They will remain tacky,
Though dried and after

Many washes. This is how
We are now. All in.

Dark Times

Sometimes what we see
Seems to be, confrontingly.

Mile after magnificent
Mile of dulcet walkers

Stumbling. Through grey
Sheet rains, it's coming.

The Admiralty confers above
As the U-boat of our city floods.