TV from
before the
crisis and
maybe knocked
down by the
storm a small
round fluff bird
cries past the
window and
the fat dog
awake now
with eyes wide
Author: daveboyer
-
do I admit shamefully sheepishly that I love the stream of music video podcast my phone tablet computer can provide the immersion in old loves missed opportunities new lush lands to be lost in but why not what’s better for those of us who lose the thread so quickly what was that Pavement tune that Philip glass bit I love but maybe I’m getting too Prozac I mean prosaic I think maybe now anyway all the hints can drive you mad you think they’re heading somewhere but one turn around the lake and we’re back at the front door unkissed
-
though my eyes blur in this light there is a
certain after-cataclysm path that
feels as though you were walking upstairs
but maybe I’m not explaining it right
it’s like now that sex is out of fashion
how do you explain movies from the 80s
but let me stop you right there before I
need to write a ticket though you are my friend
-
sometimes there’s nothing human you can do
the white sky mo(u)rning a single bird across
the courtyard bricks for a new pyramidso where can you go how can you
think after they refuse to be
born itwon’t help
steer this weary ox fromthe prized flowers won’t re
construct the squirrel’s bones
-
red the dog barks at sunset clouds but not forever
(First published in Under the Basho.)
-
Sonnet
with false starts buzzing around my head what do I do do I recall one fly I cut in half with a glass while trying to trap and free it—then sculpt some little line to be stomped bloodless by the sound of boots on the ceiling—so do I then try to persist with this misty I and words like persist—but to speak plainly there is no window in which to speak plainly about a small flower past my boots that I wish could fly into colors that open a window into a land where I could lie…
but now I’m cut in half and half of me
may persist and maybe that I will fly
-
depending on the red chair on the porch the downpour
(First published in Modern Haiku.)
-
the way the night gloveless treats this body full of holes
(First published in Under the Basho.)
-
our breath confines four geese to a field covered in ice
(First published in Heliosparrow.)
-
what hope in this pen and an ink
nearly invisible
earlier the morning sun on
the trees made me think of
large mammals and their humid scent
in the sun in the grass
the countable galaxies of
bright dew and now the chair
makes sarcastic music of my
musing but the night is
still and so wide without a moon
-
scratching at an image an inch beneath the ice of my chest
(First published in Heliosparrow.)
-
those little hopes for the
weekend with green softness
over the lawn insectsfloat or dart the breeze
was so important thatit might keep me up tonight
I know it’s not your problemthe pickles came out so well
you know the darkness
catches up before
summer really gets
going I should stop
saying you know you
know anywhoo thelast time we spoke
you were spitting
in the eye of
a hurricaneit’s always the way when the days get less
generous with their light and walking the
dog you see furry legs in the trees and
a noise near or far you choose to ignore
-
Who I’ve Been Reading
Ada Rae Merwin, T. S. Coleman,
Allen Louise Eliot, Edna
Limón, Geoffrey D. Graham, Anne Glück,
John Kalytiak Davis, Emily
Gay, Joshua Sexton Cummings,
Jorie Whitman, Gertrude Stein, John
Armantrout, William Aimee Wordsworth,
Tracy K. Marvel, E. E. Ashbery,
Wanda Joy Ginsburg, Kimiko Bennett,
W. S. Dickinson, John Rich Smith,
Ross Berryman, Andrew Keats, Walt
Nezhukumatathil, H. Harjo
Hahn, Adrienne Chaucer,
Olena St. Vincent Millay,
-
after great doubt eye strain and intermittent rain some peanut butter and crackers but months grow crumble and blow away in the humid breeze it never left
-
slow syrup in my sternum sweetens the lost leaves’ silver session
(First published in Under the Basho.)
-
the false concierge replenished by bright chaos
(First published in Under the Basho.)
-
Sonnet
with what time is left listen to
air conditioners drop drop drop
on the used tea bag of summer
while the waves of heat hit you on
uneven shards of sidewalk—though
later perhaps you’ll find some sweet
solitude and dream some drip could
bring a forgotten bloom or rare
herb back but the brink keeps creeping
and that green shade so far away—
so retreat to concrete above
the noise but not the heat and make
a quiet in which your fingers
if nothing else may sprout some leaves
-
how much water do I have to drink before the statue
(First published in Under the Basho.)
-
imagine the day fine and the gremlin
in the intestine who shatters the desk
before the final exam to stay warm
through an unremarkable winter may
smile before the surprise final exam
-
in my throat all the squirrels of autumn
(First published in Under the Basho.)
-
back from the moon again this icicle laughter in my hair
(First published in Heliosparrow.)
-
the acrid music of the false concierge at dawn
(First published in Bones.)
-
music from an escaping dream or an undigested night in which we finish the great & clever expense reports designed to ensnare the accountant of the faerie king
-
partly sunny and less humid with an appalling face in the clouds
(First published in Heliosparrow.)
-
motorcycle noise at night cool after the storm with crickets and my neighbor’s creaking floor through my ceiling chamomile tea
other animals 