Alright, Already

It’s alright if you don’t love me,
If you don’t love me,
it’s alright.

It’s alright if you don’t need me,
If you don’t need me,
it’s alright.

It’s alright if you do negate me,
If you do negate me,
it’s not, not alright.

It’s alright if you don’t replace me,
If you do replace me,
it’s alright.

It’s alright if I’m not alright,
If I’m not alright,
it’s alright.

But if you don’t really get me,
You don’t really get me,
and that’s alright.

But if you don’t go and let me,
If you can’t go and let me,
it’s really,
not alright.

Keppe

Auto-neurotic-didacticism, teased out
inward airs;

attenuated, serial—subtle and
corrupt. The catophatic
tunesmith’s woven writ,

reducing
music׳s seductive pith: ring,
index, sum.

Tracing on
two light trains aflight. I

calibrate the floors
below iron tides, atomizing—

leaving thin notes a broken stroke,
each one told with time.

Judahs

The heirs’ rumpled green clothes of
a dusty faced poet lounging

under, unacquainted, my not so
languid weakness;

the burning role, repleated gray,
through a parried absence.

The perforated dividing line and Davidian
chord around waist, bended,

decision, liaisoning with herds,
close, held to a foal high blight

of empty Zion’s wayless sleep.