712 Readings


(the Bard’s Bar)

Let’s touch
our playthings
& fly to
the incurable
the past is
an infection
it won’t quit
standing up
in the round
the rabble roused
almost sung
the chorus
of beautiful
how the mouth
moves across
the flesh
of a word
forward so
it falls from
the roof
to the floor
what we hear
aspirates then
what we said
what we thought
is a memory
that’s not
science science
is a motion
a mother closing
the curtains
in the big world
a mother drawing
the night into
her thick arms again
we can never touch
that empty cradle
that deep rocking
like an aquifer
below the sick
plowed Midwest
there’s a big
shot of liquor
quick water
from who knows
to what is this
mud & stone
the dim’s dark
same as any
cloud blowing
any wet’s rain
all this thirst
ends well is
a slippery place
this talking
skinny’s row
drink’s language
Posted 03/26/13
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