the best thing about a man
& the best thing about hope
the best thing about taking a bite out of the moon
the best thing about Pollyanna—
“same mood all the time”
the best thing about kissing the soil
the dove-colored walk, shaded tiles
the ambient tap of the heels
entering the mosque
passing the onion fields
taking a bite of tomorrow
I ask my spirit for advice
on this transition
the answer faint & small in the morning
“take hold, use the secret engine”
the best thing about being single
russet brown at sunset
the wild boys at 12
the boys at 40
the boys boys boys boys
the supernumerary boys
the best thing about boys
is the best thing about a vector
you started at one place
& end up in another
Einstein, after Edison, pulled
the 20th century through its sleeve
& out into a new range of motion.
hello. long nights under
an incandescent bulb
while the message center &
humidifier draw enough juice
to light a small 19th century
village. on this station,
the up & up, we are clear
about the desire to kiss with no
superstitious icons of the saints
turned upside or right side
in any way to confuse
a general audience. hello.
would you like to see
what’s behind door #1.
every minute marks the turn
of scores of centuries. we got
the pope. we got the pope in jubilee
marking an atonement
for wrong beliefs & harmful
actions. the church vindicated
Galileo. a minor invention
every week or so. hello. we got
the pope. we got children
straining at the edge of quiet.
we got to check in daily.
after the 90s
what do you call it.
who feeds the park dogs
who celebrates their perfect paws
birds learn to fly by instinct, error, coercion & trial
as we learn to keep living
joy pulls us
the bright day pushes & the dark recesses comfort
we move into a period of poor nutrition
burning burning burning the old rose of disappointment
waiting on the platform
not sure of the schedule
will the helper be kind
or will he issue an official statement
will he press your hand & answer questions
with his eyes
or will he say you have succumbed
to your own path of deep deep sadness
the end, waving like grandma’s hanky or her general fond expression
blinking out in the money line— he said you could “die” into your
emotions— meaning no attachment to the outcome—
wedged into an uncompromising pair of jeans— would you wear these to
the natural food store & if a man asked you a direct question, what
flavor would you be? banking on the songs of the climate that raised
you— backyard lyrics moaning hold me— tighter— squeeze me— tighter—
hold me—
quickly tell me who you were before you were born, what brought you
from where you came from, what you know— we may not have much
time—
banking on the last forgiven wind, rain, sea currents
the Earth is closing down her contract— night approaches day, winter leans
into summer— the hanging indent of dark beauty to a flame
so unexpected, state officials posted signs of warning—
banking on the mists that overlay the new arising dunes in Nevada desert
banking on the visitation of black butterflies to the fruiting bush on Sunday
morning—