Equal Night

A furrow in the cloudless sky
they extended the empty graveyard to make room
a white fence, yellow dust of rain
the lighted steeple pierces the darkness

A last night of summer
draws on wearily and I’m driving far away
detached mind, a machine functioning
independent past the speed traps, and checkpoints, empty lights

The carcinogenic rain didn’t bury him
the lightweight dressed in a volunteer uniform
helped to bear the load in its absence
the absence of reason in the hollow eating away of memory

And what would I say
it’s just the equinox
and I’m perpendicular to the sun
whichever way that is

Standing upside-down and balanced carefully
the hollowed dead metal sound
clasps close and lock forever
soundless

Cleaning the sidewalk street
walk it up and back toward the sculpted bridge of lights
sitting side by side and speaking about death
the dead so far away

Scaffolding below
turning over with the lonely sound of trains passing in the darkness
the rattle close by, strange faces
invisible behind night’s flint blinds pulled closed

With autumn comes the sound of leaves
grating on the cobbled streets of discarded books
their bindings loose, faded by the sun
sun stripped trees

They buried him by an Indian
who beat him hurriedly to the grave
one foot in, looking behind
the same, each day a tired progression on three feet

What rhythm to beat out the waning summer?
and do they know
wandering below
ditching the dying season too soon?

The granular decay of time
just grates away
and he’s buried
and I drive, driving home.

Garbage Sale

Twisting twine in tattered strands
she watches as she bends out the folds
cardboard is silk-skin anyway
it bends and breaks in the rain

And still they packed it all up so nicely
sharpied in the necessary display
names and price tags
on this American dream

But if the white fall rains
and the hillside turns to glass
who will stop to shop the cardboard aisles
and listen while they explain?

Explain
a simple statement
but she stared blankly
standing by the side of a state highway concrete shoulder of sidewalk

Sprawling figures in the grass
watching stars
ignore the hood torn right off
the headlights a mile or yards away

But could you really let me in right now
I’m trying to know
without record, without voice
imprinted tread

But knowing not knowing the time
she spat and watched him suspiciously
for any sideways glance
the torn and stained blue jeans

Finger in her hair twisting like a strand of faded twine
she spoke
I’m not here
not you

They sit out in the driveway
amidst the packaged middle class
waiting for the money to come
in

The storm boils overhead
and gives them rain
cardboard is like tarpaulin anyway
it softens and runs away

Too many trips are gone
too many Styrofoam wooden stirred cups of grain
and gin
and Columbian home brew

They are on the same street
they are the same
a twined out double line
explain

And somewhere
a man shoves a nozzle in his mouth
and drinks
he needs a shave.

The Ivy League

Ivy leaves on the wall around the buildings heaving side
could lean against it, but still
it shudders

An inconvenient break premature
and the line stops still listening for those half-begotten words
I have a problem with Socrates

A submission
they sit cross-legged in the hall and draw ragged statements on the brick
the crumbling chalk and their fingers are yellow

The gold hue of streetlights outside
the sudden WOW OH of the siren
as if he’s taken by surprise seeing drunkards on High St.

The abbreviated inebriated night
and it runs out
running two feet together into a dank shadow

The buildings overgrown
and vomit in the ivy
that shudders with the retch.

An Untitled Play

What walks these rainy streets tonight?
The darkness water pavement glints and winks
until dusk this silent green—watched over by lighted spires
gloomy face of stone
seems safe

What lingers in the tunnel of dreary lights?
They talk about it in low half-unyielding voices
was her skirt too low?
am I clean?

without meaning there was nothing more to the stance
cross legs beneath lights left—always never—on
when the cord lightly falls
crisply crumbling on the ground
I’d dreamt of a different Broadway

And so this lightly serious discussion hesitates
I’d thrown her hands to the bed
and refuses to walk out quietly
without a parting shot at the statistically back truth—appalling

what walks with us now
stalking our crookedly stumbling feet
as they talked I looked out the window
and watched the rain fall glinting in the streets.