Plain American Language

I cut a sliver/of WC William's finger
and placed it inside/my philosophy...

Sunday, May 1, 2011

Dating Scene (last poem of the 30 days, one day late)

There is a box that I kept, cellophane
clear plastic sheet, blue exterior.
Inside, a brachiosaurus and water color
of the Hudson seen from Hastings-
on-Hudson. Where is the world you've
built--sapphire stones in groups,
dark seasoning on salads, apples
that break the silences of November.
I'm looking for a Jew, who speaks in
dialectics, whose hues range from green
to the browns around the pupiles, with
hair so curly it is its own forest
and she sings like glory-bound diaspora
like shapes and wavering trees or,
when June hits, dripping popsicles,
her power lies in electricity, her font
is Helvetica and the care she heaves
for the comeliness of things brings power
to this city, she is a glass building bridge
that frames an old post office
she is the camera, the typewriter,
the ribbon stretched across the park,
she slow motion, she is the tide,
she once was. I'm looking for a Jew,
a world to build; can you help with that.

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