Aug 292011
 

   Happily at home amidst a blizzardy haphazard of papers
        dawn steeps the window with visionary promise
          for the entire apartment complex.

   I am barren as you are barren, in a world replete with objects
        indifferent to our crux; I am broken and unwise
          as you yourself are broken, and both unclear
            and nobody objects.

   Its always a trifle embarrassing to be caught in the act, to be alive
        isn't it?  Coping with jaundice and child-proof tops, waking
          out of the same problematical nightmare at five
            as if sleep were the body's occasion for jeering

   at the brain, which imposes its ordinary articulate order
        fetishistically every day on the bombardment of senses
          selling us fictions while telling it all, reporting odors
            and heartthrobs with equal indifference.

   God bless the gods, apathetic executives of the irrational
        who are powerless without our laughable bodies
          to cast even a third-rate thrill-
            er, and make of our unable lives
               their inarticulate movies.

   Discursive stanzas look like they're hurrying
        to the nowhere-somewhere of a formal fountain's
          repetitive static whiteness.
            What is left to say, is there anything?

   Let love be the last letter of the penultimate law
        righting us rigidly as a strapping father full of laughter
          when like every incertain curious infant thither
            we totter and yaw.

  And yet, with all of that said (so much) and (conceivably)
       registered in heart and in head by habit
         each day is only a day at play....

  A lesson in how dowdy light becomes slowly a whole room
       and the grateful green leather chair emerged
         awaits patiently by the window its daily burden
            like a remembered word

  its definition.  Its in this way that we have died already
       died and come to this life, two civil persons
         talking together sanely, quietly, long-windedly
            as an aqueduct hums.

  The world is full of sane sunlight and responsible landscapes
       not too impossible for believable humans to accomplish
         their unremarkable heights or average depths
            and whose prayers resemble steps.

  But first a brief sleep, first order of business, then work (not too late)
       may commence: every man must darkly his own
         unconscious Olympus propitiate

  as when a mountain, unexpectedly on the horizon alone
       rediscovers, without notice or noise
         its monumental poise.

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