Two Poems

Translation Ambulance

They call them tracers and they sit in the dark With the video versions of what is not you Bright arcs over gray “a choreography of human barks rising from the bunkers.” A doctor, From Pakistan, enters the Elysian fields of light Speaking flawlessly Not making eye contact . . . A maelstrom of wood plugs up The fallopian brake where the trees fan out Sends the boxcars flying Jet propelled, seeds riding in pasty water Being born isn’t the great accident The pure cells ride the Heavily burdened ones (a wasp gall explodes) A surfeit of fortification goes straight to the damaged boy’s forehead The other ones look out at the sand— some daydream— East of Kabul— Half notes, Whole notes, a soundless impasto Errors         (an Ashbery Erasure poem) weather in boxes lit red with snow Carnivores, and light winter is beyond the bed tall and violent i thought of your plight cave doping a tit of unrisen love Flat head that fumes desire for falling pay her the rope’s silence is true?

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