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G-D

We get beat up.

the explicable, the explicable, then the. the prefecture, void
of harmony

We are not what I wasn’t
afraid of. Nor did that occur to you
just now: the back
door as an option.

He stayed up late looking: home
remedies for sKy-Attica
I tried unlocking

my jaw silently
from your name
came a syllable of stress,
then all this resting

Semblance of Rigor

I blame the powers of inference
       for the trouble
back there. We’re sorting it out
behind the scenes while I announce that
               there are thousands of ways
  of thinking about something,
I just happen to choose the one
about thinking
about something
dear to the people
  who aren’t thought about: fear
of money is branded
ideology, lazy
when fear of poverty is fear of people
            finding out they’re people,
so poor.

I work that out for myself so I can justify
the drink it took, the week
it didn’t. No one thinks: but attention takes time
       so why should I?
I think: no one thinks
about the people I know, no one prays
   for the guy who observes that
no one prays for him
because everyone’s heard the song
and digs it.

  I’m careful to assume the barrier
has a conclusion.
 I keep watching old milk
            spill, noting
its democratic urgency.

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