When can we be lazy?
like two dogs, with eyes half open;
stretching our legs through the grass,
laying; getting almost nothing done.
'Was told it wasn't he but was,
but promised it was she, was not;
they struggled to be we, and just forgot.'
A song for the innocent loner,
the plough-hand and fish-boner:
his slow pipe
lowers as he listens
Older body parts are the accessories for littler lives:
Older arms are the slings to be carried in;
Older legs are the stilts to stalk the earth with;
Sometimes an older hip is a convenient seat;
I reached out
as we slept,
finding the bed,
On an august night, a half-rain
stumbles glass; the child-bride,
in a bruise of love, endures her pain;
her eyes obscenities as she cries.
Back of the hunched black house,
a garden’s white water
in a slow fountain, a sugar bowl.
my way like a bull:
a hungry animal
reminds me of his face -
Retired from the fields of corn,
the old scarecrow stands
abandoned on the lawn;
old ropes, binding his hands.
Admiring death from afar;
A bicycle-shape closing
On the foot of a hill,
Where bird-drawn wings panic