Not A Cloud in the Sky
Off to market. Not a cloud in the sky.
I'm hosting a flashover, right here in my head.
I am setting all the puppeteers to dancing.
And this time, there's no current in my chair.
In the work shed I'm making a dead civilization.
The fibers full of volts–my best suit.
In my dreams I run from tree to tree.
All the gods on this plain are capacitors.
I'm taking Aesop as my nom de guerre.
I am telling the story. I am full of light.
The Alewife's Dream
Evading sadness, her petticoat sky
dreams a dream in which she straddles
hour by hour the embolism
whose rough company she'd disown
but for cuttings grown by the orange window
in jars, orange becaues orange light
reposes like a beautiful alewife
on the blonde and terrible marshes
where the horizon shines like a trumpet
and she gathers us up, shy and entire.
