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Day & Night
Out front, burnt ashcan,
withery grass, spiny green cactus,
glaring sun/
this gray skin of desert
Get low
let go
*
I wanted to write of putting
my arms around you
pulling close
someone I could approach
this first time
over & over
as new to myself as to you
a kind of threshold
*
love isn't a substance
there's nothing to possess
you can't hold wind
you just listen
feel it move
love isn't flesh
love is a cave
a habitation
surfaces & depths
Oddly like despair
you reach the end
when you discover
you need to turn constantly
start over
this goes nowhere
*
close & separate
hot & green
inside & out
align the perspectives
I, me, your
wet / dry
goodbye
hello
put the prepositions in place
in, at, of, by, for
conjunctions &/or/but
turn it around again:
"of hello," "under goodbye,"
"at me," "until you,"
among or through
think you day
think you night
look up at the stars
spread their billion ways
you draw lines
between those points of light
make connections
anyway you choose
& I chose to believe
I couldn't believe
for you
Hi Ho, Silver, Away
The silver rain bubbling off
the tarred parking lot,
the sky a flattened sheen--
silver puddles spread everywhere,
the distribution of wealth--
William Jennings Bryan,
an heroic campaign!
What was your name again?
(always this bureaucratic waiting game
up one floor
down two
like they invented music
& it belongs on the dance floor)
you're outside
they're in
shiver back to the truck
A desultory work week
home to television
home to snores
"Mr. John Dough"
a card-carrying member
of Sears Roebuck
Exxon, etc
your silver sides flashing--
a kind of aluminum foil
a bent event
which struggles to rise/
& they can you into sardine
pure something
crinkle, crinkle, little star
nothing to arrive
but the furniture
My Place Or Yours
I knew better than to kiss you
I wanted to see what difference you'd make
what change of skin
what landscape
the small artificial lights
crawling moon site
this skull of caves
this plaid skirt
this Madagascar
perhaps a taxi I'd climb inside
get delivered elsewhere
*
I'm thinking of your face
flashing green eyes
wrinkling smile
the difference a kiss makes
the subtle relation between "you" & "I"
become thunderheads
red atmospheres
"a pure sluice of white glare"
When I look into your face
I think it's your face I see
your horizons
your flashes
your sunsets
but it's not so
your face looks into me
Election
Make a provocative statement:
Dear Dungeon
Dear Romance
I want pizza, gooey cheese, tomato sauce
a light brown crust
several bright explosions
a large pink mouth
some mythic dimension
I seem to have lost any other
account of myself
*
Susan Redcalf, straw hat pushed back
sassy black curls
glittering eyes
The enchantment of a girl's laughter,
a half-forgotten language
Just what do you see in me, those eyes say,
that I can trust?
Namely, what have you got invested?
*
Why, for instance
like seeing blue chicory
my window down
a field otherwise brown
the same tired approach
who's driving who
God it gets close
*
Smoky blue barbecues
the Fourth of July
flags draped over rows of identical patios
the folks gathered in secret backyards
squabbling how ribs burn
who's pumping who
celebrate the fireworks
*
Tiny brown sparrow
in the tar parking lot
tail stuck up
downy feathers fluffed
wings vibrating
giving it all up
*
But he will always die
in this scene & her bosom sigh
& go flat
*
what a loud muffler
what a lousy truck
cracked windshield
puff puff puff
down the road
Bruce Holsapple is currently working in central New Mexico as a speech-language pathologist. He taught briefly and has a scholarly essay on Phil Whalen's poetry forthcoming in Paideuma. His poems have appeared in The Poker, House Organ, First Intensity and Blue Mesa. (February 2008)
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