28 January 2009

i.

a small bird not on my
resume tells me
in one ear— perhaps out another
that she will fix my
economy
comes as a surprise—
not words
not ever a bird speaking
to bail me out
more of this in poem & the science of a thing
questioning the big

ii.

birdbath she says she’s in
over her head
again the winging eye to eye
draws me sleeplike
in danger of wavering off the banks
of road river
which likes to make you think
ice is rarer
than it looks

iii.

white car in the ditch
she wheels back
around to say important words
more poems &
i told you sos
it goes
on like this for a few minutes
the mud is here
or there
& the bird baths

iv.

mud as a language
its dirty
& where you wear it
smudges up what is already smudged
runs rump or makes
you look like an ass

v.

trips too short smell poetic
& filthy white
notice:
the birds aren’t even
hear
silence of running a muck &
the non-bird whispering about forgetting travelers
czech(s)
drives you out of the preverbal
ditch the mud!
only here
you find yourself still
mind numbingly trudging through a pretty
nice day

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