beginning:
her father was
an orthopaedic
surgeon, her
mother a relaunched
hippy. both were un-
imaginative. she
grew up
footloose &
fancy free.
intermission:
patience
wears thin
through prolonged
use. it should be
changed at
least every other
day or
sooner
if you
can’t stand
waiting.
end:
the night.
the left-over
layers
A / Pilgrim Father / walks past Mar-a-Lago
The granaries are choked
with fervor. Dust spills
& spreads, excludes the sky,
occludes the light. A virtual
night I walk & talk through,
articulated limbs but un-
articulated fears. In some
strange manner I’ve become
a reluctant pedestrian on
someone else’s treadmill. Have
found myself, have found
myself to be what I am
most afraid of. Uncertain.
& these are certain times.
La Carriole du Père Junier
A week late I finally
get around to turning
over the calendar. De-
cember in this collection
of loose impressionists
is represented by the
pompous toll-collector,
Le Douanier, Henri
Rousseau. It cheers me
up immediately. But what
a waste. My depression
could have been carried
away in Father Junier's
cart seven days ago.
Two peaches
one orange
two nectarines
four kiwifruit
one green apple
two red apples
a white bowl
side table
clear satin varnish
a light burnish of dust.
One peach
one nectarine
three kiwifruit
one green apple
one red apple
a white bowl
side table
clear satin varnish
fingermarks.