5,515 Readings


Things once meant
Faceted seaside mornings
A man could wake up dead
in the lavish expanse of an overpass
Charmed by the simple body of the motorcycle
Exterior stripped down like a painting
Charming rev
Not at all complex

Cheery gunshot city hello
Hello incongruent suicidal trace welcome
Welcome wheedling accordion of childbirth and the emptiness afterward
and the chiming breezy melodies of the electric guitars
that make me so sweetly melancholy
all afternoon
and all evening

And I remember the cafes and those evenings
and the friends who weren’t so much friends and
I am addicted to these sweet lines
How simple they are
So simple
We have swept aside the rose petals
that are too difficult
And there is nothing left of the generous complexity of youth
And a little ways further on is a suburb
A very pretty suburb

I met a man this morning a beautiful man with a mustache
He was just like me just like you
He talked so openly about his sidewalk
He drank a glass of water
He grew the mustache to look more like an ant He admires ants
He has 16,000 bricks stacked somewhere under a tarp

I would like to talk to that man again
To sow flax in the suburban lots and wildflowers
I would like to talk to him
United States I think I know
There is no other poet
How could there be?
There is only this one
Posted 03/16/12
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