A Same Silent Corner

I return to
a same silent corner
of near demons
and breathe abreast
of sorrow sewn fjords
which is left now
is this one light
sometimes mute
often not
heavy marrowed
always phony

Just now
do I begin to
know loss in such
low moments
the size of it
and how astounding

It emits from
an eye or square
no soul left
but voices more
than before
colluding the fact
of governed brightness

A jerkish type
in clay gripper
strengthened on
full sliver flakes
ticketed for
bad posture

The christian loitering

Stuck a hard bit
licorice stone
small the color
of spit tooth
is pit of mind
is mine when

On each word
to count and wear
wool-worth loudly
like the bone drill
if not
if sleep then
with lid lain open


Of Roth,

Of Malamud and Cahan

Of Singer,

Of Roth again, but
not Agnon

of a:

Twin-toned voice internal
Blushed free of warders cruel

Under slanted banner glory
Starred brick in dangled duel:

“Of a hairy rooftop laughter,
raining tenement charades,
scream-stung single typists,
burping seltzered serenades.”

Of cooper roads cracked shining
Three broken teeth for litter

Through pungent bloomer alleys
Tasting wizened tears too bitter

Of squat chairs, chipped and filthy
Beaten heirs of litany swept

Out dolorous pitted windows
Harsh laments unspoken leapt

They did shout! They did shout!
Melting a nickel’s worth of words

Afoot in maritime spent medicine
Uncurling lungs up into birds


A wanton, foul, bee-pecked sage/
light scream layed on bedouin stage/

lingered-in lines absenting age/
as his divided self grew worn/

With supine shine he did freckly dote/
on half-a-hungry greenback note/

unwashed in soiled bearskin coat/
where his first full form was torn/

It blew up fast his balloon score/
a crone-sold rot for verbal core/

he sat down first, a sanded bore/
denied that East blown horn/

Now empty while once complete/
on filial feet so slappy sweet/

loose names shower down the street/
and we’ve left that fur all shorn/