last poem of this year


Apparition Poem # 1913


You watch, as in slow motion glass-
hewn objects crash to the ground, as
streams back and forth confirm, once
again, you’ve cracked into a slug-pile
of heartless psychopaths— I stand
aside, jaundiced, wearing my own
glasses, knowing blown glass to be
how human interstices are knit, words
to be an absolute sky of glass, and here
I am, speaking to you in transparencies—


Apparition Poem #1547


this is what
words amount to—
festivals of ash,
collapsed into urns,
held up by timid
folk for the bold
to scatter.


Apparition Poem #1147


Moments when she let her hair
down & out- lank-dyed, dirty
blonde, fluffed with fingers, in
sunset's drowse, at the Drop before-

in the years it took me to see
the wind of what she was in
the world- prize two-minute
porridge- the sun would set

also on the nights I scoped
her as though she were something,
& we ourselves more solid than not-