Week Four Poems

Notes on The City

February 05, 2008

Anglo-Saxon alliterative verse

Concrete Walls, crumbling can't stop.

"POST NO BILLS," tells bearded police.

Our architecture & marathons

& cocaine marching bands &

huddled ballet wretches

& Prophitears. Mexico may

be laughing, or you're insane,

Someday masses. And how the

forgotten Midwest sleeps early.

First Heaven: A Cinquain

Syllables: 2/4/6/8/2

Sometimes,

I wonder if

Heaven is really just

a big bureaucracy. There might

be dues.

Lavender

An assignment that required four syllables per line.

Ripping ballasts,

trapped, tasked,

rude, but baldly

as we all can

manage, erm, or

foresee. The bank

is on a date

and spends millions

on righteous tights.

Pitied, all the

Deities eat

rams and dried meats.

Salt, eh? Can the

Carpetfuzz get

unrolled, ripped up?

Say man, gonna

bowl or scream? If

it's one it's two,

but the Captain's

at sea--always

will be.

               Pill-heads

and pillow aunts

can sing, can dance!

Ripened pin men

will fish joy, the

rich or goddamned

stomach turners

will find out your

Secret Love Meal.

How does it feel

if the eyes, long

mangled, unsunned,

bloodfilled, craven,

solo, sometimes

Fifty,

           Whir! I

went past Tie Man:

sweater, pale hands,

Barber! Without

seconds that turn

around, maybe

the candy canes

will release some

figurative

numberfuckers,

a painless tour,

a free zoo, much

obliged, DR.

Saliva, stiff as unearthings.

I wonder some

if we're robots.