–Organ / Plainsong–
empty station wagon by the train tracks, tips a
delicate balance. he discards the waste, paper indents
catching on overgrowth, the field’s portmanteau extends
beyond clusters of unripe mulberry,
pink industrial foam, rorschach blots
he sees her nesting under eaves & soffits, a dried up husk,
the remainders wrapped in gauze, later, a stream of chemicals
voids the crawlspace, a deserted house, the lake, & tiny
bubbles clutching the surface, stroke his cheek.
Posted 09/20/09
from "Below, A Slow Ascent"