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The Eclipse
Only a glimmer left: a few pills briefly covering the tongue, an escape hatch from an unfinished chapter-- only totality or sadness is cathartic, the annular as disappointing as geometry or empty darkness. The Mayans basically kept it to themselves, the Aztecs detecting only whispers about limits and calendars during each sacrifice. One celestial door closes, to unexplored space. The big striptease is easy in zero-gravity, where the cloaking volunteers to float away, exposing a spectacular body. In other galaxies, our sun’s not a celebrity, but here, our flashbulbs crackle like torn-open envelopes of discount stars, the notes within too culture-coded to read aloud. From this point on, people will call many things accidents. This will not be one of them. |
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Lifeguard
A couple of Septembers, a couple, a wedding band, and a water wing catch in the filter, dazzled by chemicals. The inflatable tube mouths a big vowel many refuse to pronounce. Meanwhile, my high-hedged residential romance has the attendance of air freshener. High and tiled, the cavern walls glaze, air booming with empty. They refuse to heat the fall to a more inviting temperature. Dead leaves line the bottom with their rotting, thrushes peck the concrete deck for non-existent sustenance, while an entire population rubs its face in coliseum. A few of the smart ones procure parkas and travel north. Surprise drowns none of them, but their leader may confuse a virgin with aversion in choosing where to stop. The ducks have mostly abandoned the pool or deflated, and the live ones remain a wary distance away. My rescue whistle has frozen to my lips. |
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American Pastoral
The world isn’t scored, so you can’t bite it in half to swallow or chew, stretching skin over packed cheeks, threatening to break your cranium. Morning bucks the hydrangeas, hummingbirds ablaze with fancy, and the way purple unfolds into airspace, and roses are unlikely shades of open, petals in the evolution of patience. Little use, at the edge of this spell, garnering ingredients, rambling the countryside’s contours, humming the immortal waiting game in this outdoor kitchen, whipping up something delectable--hear knack performing, glimpse shimmering air, seductive as hell, cry the planet’s next rotation in the eyes of a wandering dragonfly one helium afternoon, neurons an allegro fire ablaze against the fenland sky, and awash in all this, a tour of the low-cost, modern American house, the average and expensive days within the within. Supposedly, great ideas await outing in every budget. |