skirt around the real issues
release some jaws of detail
win a lottery due process
research my payback
it hammers the fuck out of
a voice that looks a little
like Paula Poundstone
certainly it has a dual purpose
just take my hand and
burn through the floor full of
blue smoke and we can
dance even this close
and see nobody
(3/9/2003)
trees twinkle above my dad’s dead shoes
which step over a little sprig of pine
that’s lodged in a sidewalk crack
I watch a grocery buggy decide not to
pass under some police tape
nononono they’ve sawed down the
circle of trees in Sydney Walton Square
I get up redfaced and walk back to work
dodge a falling leaf
look for the three doves from last year
not here
then peer over Davis Street
where the leaf-rakers
are breakdancing under the plum trees
(3/18/2003)