Saturday, March 23, 2013

it writes itself
the body memorizes
the sudden things
and the gradual things
one shoulder comes lower than the other
callouses on the feet
the leap over a puddle

asymmetries
one side of your face
does not match the other
one hand becomes bigger
one foot
one sprained ankle
one broken thumb
knits back a remembrance of place
somewhat there

that walk on the seven foot wall
that as well
riding a bicycle
how often you sit on the grass
and do you dance?

how to slice a mango
and shell a crab
useful things
you flipped the egg
and hung a spoon on your nose

Monday, March 18, 2013

in this square mile
behind the wire fence the field
six inches under
snow
and the geese who haven't left
and the forms and leaflets
that blew to the edges in the wind
the countdown at the corner
zero to the scissorlegs of the white walking man
or another fifteen
the precise corners
etch the flat planes