Plain American Language

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

Thursday, December 29, 2011

On the Bed, On Vacation

Sometimes I would rather not begin
by stating the situation in which I sit,
neck bent. Nightly, instead,
I will go to the pool hall
and play half-silently, admiring
broken fans that,
perhaps, cooled a great number of players,
cues in hand, important, blue chalk dusting off their shoulders
like drifting children; they tumble down
covertly, ethereal near the construction site
Oh construction site, in the town in which I was born,
you light up the as if you
were hosting a Hawaiian barbecue,
or perhaps celebrating Channukah,
though that is slightly troubling
as your candles are innumerable and scald
a fantastic after-glow
on the dashboard, dirt piles
and football stadium, drifting children. So, then,
the problem: light, being.
Beams beg for walking upon and
you are months from completion--
no night-watcher will touch
a foot on you, blue-black whale whose mouth glazes
open like candle wax,
except in the future when
children roll their fingers on your cavernous walls.

No comments: