who wins the skirmish when no one dies
clever old fool you managed to chain one
of the oldest deathless ones whose job was
death which screwed up the works since he
couldn’t work so how can we eat when
a week later the chicken’s head
still begs for grain it cannot store or how
do we please these greatest and most
fickle gods when a hundred perfect
oxen with golden horns embossed with blood
cannot take their rest and the sheep slipping
on its intestines tomorrow shakes its
head and bleats at you again and through the
night so you see the boulder was justice
Tag: tomorrow
-
-
it’s difficult looking for words to force into little gems (jams?) & not look out the window and write something about this shade of blue sky just before spring
weeks of precious concentration later how to know if there’s anything or a tunnel that collapses with the slightest shake
you want to go back even as you put one foot forward and choose a different color sock hat excuse though it’s best to keep walking and say you started differently
in the end if it lets you step into the dark more easily what would it be like but never mind get back to digging or we’ll never get out
tomorrow is the word you’re looking for which means both hope and hopeless the black of space the restless sun
-
no matter how many pages, this, sitting in your chest and tomorrow, well, we can’t leave it here, not with his allergies, and like the art of conquered people, the distant clouds, what’s the word for a menacing sound in the distance, of course this is hardly a proper sendoff, still, the heart, and in his pockets the crumbs have pockets, though listening to these books won’t put groceries on the table, and the trees stopped blooming so suddenly, as if tipped off about the whole affair, sitting in the corner drinking water, as the poets of the anthology warned us about, and suddenly deer on the edge of downtown, this humid air and itch, and I lose interest in the delicate structure of the pastries, will you just open your mouth and say maybe
other animals 