75.
O the street the street is a hand
that goes everywhere
why is there thistledown on your feet
I looked up mirror in the book it
showed my face
but only as others see it liars and
poets and thieves
maybe I also once stood beneath the
cross
ponderous useless unable to help him
pointless witness of so much
catastrophe
unless the act of witness has some
meaning too
everything that happens waits to be
observed
we are just iron filings summoned to
its shape
soon enough dispersed and baffled
ever after
but we know I saw this happen but I don’t
know what this is.
76.
Analysis is his vulture
browsing on human thought
write it down change it later pretend
you know
pretend it’s living steal rose petals
from the shore
you’re only borrowing the colors
light lent them first
I spoke mentally you understood
physically
what are all those prairies for
the linked absences that define sensibility
fervent mistakes “ambushes of young
years”
but I knew no worse so did what I
could
the shattered teapot the car too fast
so many pregnancies in the lost
museum.
