difference
defers fence
our first fruits
reverence
I blend into two
refract a mosaic
circle a vast sphere
limitless
now museum
now you don’t
outside the snow persists
inside the blanket
if skin diminished
its element
light only a mirror
poor dust languishing
under the carpet
cardboard doubles
witness to years
these piles will topple
under the weight of
their leaning
I give in
to blending
Do not
put on
the cross
he is
the king
but that
he says
he is.
I have
written
that which
I have
written.
It is
finished.
Categories
We’re Doing
We’re turning the orchard
into a planetarium.
We’re producing the film to fulfill
the promise of mass communication.
We’re taking down the altar
and putting up a stationary bike.
We’re meddling in the lives of others
who have no business in others’ lives.
We’re making sand castles
out of melting ice cream.
We’re circling the spire
under a canopy of cauliflower.
We’re putting the computer
to sleep.
We’re asking for repentance
or perhaps dodecahedrons.
We’re withering under the weight
of shoelaces and air conditioners.
We’re separating the colors
before the spin cycle.
We’re masking our tutelage
with rice and other delectables.
We’re showering gifts
on unsuspecting umbrellas.
We’re spacing the margins
evenly with not a little guilt.
We’re pulling the drawers
and replacing them with escalators.
We’re tightening the screws
and fitting the frames.
We’re basking in sour slices
of unripened tarragon.
We’re working our way
back to beginnings or something.
They’re performing superficial renovations on the pavement. Some make do with a face. Some swear by a hubcap. Reach the speed limit. Parkway. Closed for destruction. Acres of dotted yellow lines. Sign here for deregulation. A matter of swollen debris. Potholes reveal years of patches. A definite curve tending to slope in the center of the road. See we’re above the sidewalk. Measuring distances between two points. Surveying the landscape. Terrible thing they had to tear down those trees. It hurt me something terrible. I swear since they cut through this town I haven’t been able to sleep at night. Day neither. If only they’d put up a light or a sign. Do you think that would make a difference?
Categories
Have At It
another still
life tragedy
sunset face down
in the rotunda
you mailbox me
orange lens
shift to vague
mouthful of house
dear sweet olive
branching to kiss
my skull match
flame slate trail
Categories
You Are Here
Concentrate on
your position
or the undertow
will pull you in
that’s what it does
the weigh of its how
and there is no
escape, or glance
the sun stands still
resolute, solution
not unimaginary
but separate
leaving existence
to detritus, the muck
that pulled you out
of the ocean, friend.
Categories
“Leave Empty”
said the sign on the library shelf
said the last page of the book
said the glow of the television screen
said the chair
said the symphony hall acoustics
said the path to enlightenment
said the signifier
said the question to the questionnaire
said the page not found error message
said the last few years
said the vacuum cleaner
said the half eaten apple core
said the cardboard box collapsed
said the broken vase full of flowers
said the fullness of time
said the pulse to the blood
said the eye to the window
said the pie
said the last stop of the bus route
said the grocery bag
said the current
said the holes in the cement
said the ink cartridge
said the button to the buttonhole
said the shirt to the torso
said the evacuation procedure
said the body
said the picture frame
said the patch to the rip in the fabric
said the weakest link in the chain
said the flower to the sunrise
said the blowhole to the whale
said the verb to the noun
said the pot of gold
said the corn to the husk
said the raindrop to the cloud
said the glue
said the plot of land
said the narrative
said the duck to the goose
said the wave to the microphone
said the light to the flash
said the hallway to the stairs
said the mausoleum
said the stain
said the brick to the mortar
said the ring
said the mouth
said the last words
said the empty.
This space left intentionally blank.
Categories
The Dancing
All this choreographed
falling, a series
of dives
in search of pattern
by way of seeking
restless
fluttering seams
pirouette
a turn
the motion is set
silhouette
in front
behind the kick
step lightly
against
your partner, alone
in parts attended
by tempo
or this: you’re so clumsy
if you threw
yourself
to the ground, I’m sure
you’d miss
at least.
Categories
For Love, Memory
Memory is a kind
of fire, sad drowsy flame,
electrical current
connecting one
moment to the next,
to now. Leaves under
foot disintegrate,
grass retains its texture.
You walk into space
and create what
was only nothing
a second before.
It repeats, circular
motion around the sun
for love, planets
falling into one another.
Joshua Keiter 