Someone's Beethoven dog drools crystalline ropes.
"A Saint Bernard Newfoundland mix," his owner offers
to those who approach. "He's a good guy." "Geez
Louise he's huge." That's really what she said. A probably
appropriate answer of leaves have fallen for the first
of October. Two raincoats lead a bike to water. Pink kid
points to me to say, "mama," excited for names. Many carry
cups in inessential headwear. A plane going over which I always
called Obama, what will I next, my love, my debt?
Brother at work can't answer whether humans won't be as good
at 3D for all our screentime. Miscellaneous daily sins against
the body I uncover daily more of, its casements and sub
mersions. Sentences I write in cells don't scan or dis
appoint me, though I am surprised still to be here
always. Blue kid tosses stick from bridge: "RIP
stick." And the people who pick up
trash with the grasping tool
have arrived in a van
October balm, fountains spray
winding sheets o'er granite torsos black
filmed with green. A lot of excitable
drapery in public statuary and wingbending
birds of prey. Liberty not The but A
statue of I see in flagrant cape blown back
by the winds of Shenandoah,
Brooklyn, New York.
"Light's another enemy," they say
holding brown bottles overhead in a tent
where white people have gathered in rustic jackets.
October first, long awaited day to some.
And a fact, the endless
loop of vehicular traffic,
last to enter the poem.