2 Poems

tomorrow

The planets don’t twinkle it’s how you know someone
well no one lives there but if they did it’s how
you’d know.  You can’t live on a
star they’re hot gas gas is air so that makes
them full of hot air but I never heard a or of a
star talking.  There are other silences too
like when the phone doesn’t ring when I thought it would
I mean a whole day of it but the walls
listen or I do anyway so the words
have a home even if they mean so little
or nothing.  The other day
but that means there’s
only 2
days to-
day & all the rest the other the previous
one when the stars sent that light out we see
though I’m alone this
day but still a we is but the planets
their light is now or nearly so,
today at least—a sort of gratifying
like it was a blessing or reprieve.

 

bas’c clay

Emerging from winter’s desolate
decadence a cylinder of form
to sign off on.  The cadence
of fresh mud but it’s
never
fresh it never ends, winter
except in its glad coming
that
always
ends it never
comes back.  Just
once it happened & now all there
is is
the memory churning with its
split foot that lovely in its de
formitied sigh
t.