The Brooklyn Rail

After Saarikoski

The world disappeared
into the horizon
moved through me    broke     into a million pieces
I leaned back in my chair
wasn’t able to run away  yet moved
closer and closer
further from understanding until
I gave up
no longer cared
now I’m carefree       poems
no longer interest me
flowers are beautiful      in all meadows in this garden
words useless     on all pages   in this poem
where should I take
my happiness        my forgotten words
where should I  fill my heart
with what blossoming
with what care     tell me
where do the poems go
no one reads anymore

Ready to Die

As private as this conversation, as slim
as the consequences of not choosing
my conscience lifts your despondency

out of its doldrum, I sit nonchalant, no frills.
I am handsomest in the dark,
like a prophet better regarded

in the next town, living near the water tower
high on the world’s interstellar stupidity,
that form of worship, hands clasped

tells me I’m in the right place,
reverent, pressing my shirt,
pocket full of tokens, leaving a tooth

beneath your pillow, bereft of dreams
that eclipse those who masquerade as crusaders,
their wishes are tattooed onto my wrist.

I used to drink too much, too often
a daily exercise disguised as sacred
when trees were their own cathedral

and I was ready to die in testament.

Warm Distortion

Seeds bring birds to the feeder
Birds bring color to the snow
Snow brings silence to the trees
Trees bring sculpture into landscape
Landscape brings feeling to the time of day
Day brings noise to your mind
Mind brings shape to these thoughts
Thoughts bring word to the page
Page brings quickening rhythm to hand
Hand brings cat to curved spine
Spine brings mind to vulnerable shape
Shape brings noise into cadence
Cadence brings line breaks to cognitive leaps
Leaps bring logic to limits
Limits bring freedom to our conversation
Conversation brings intimacy to silence
Silence brings reminder to urgency
Urgency brings me to write another line