Thursday, December 7, 2017

keeping saint monday

you can always hide in the idea
that no one cares
kick around the desert
waiting for some chin music
to come make it new again
when i think of the years
i think of a line across a page
to erase history & any love
that could gut a house
for good reason
my cold mouth in the wind
like a kite
as i return to work, park
under same hard shadow
where the ear of an organizer
got sliced by ambition
or the police, hard to say
though it’s understood we should
just accept reality, ronald reagan
& mickey mouse are the same
after all, your kids will turn out
fine, unraped & voting
for the rich in the dark
the good life won’t stop
for anyone
there are the tracks
& here is some rope
a rumor of piano w/ keys
of brick in a cellar
played by permanent mice
to our memory
associated flowers reports
you were only a tourist
priced out by weather
grasping at the rain
of a song
until we tossed the news
in the hole
& became something else
just like that, a line across
a page to step over
& a stranger on the other side
to take us in, here, sit down
let me tear this fog
out of your chest