Enthusiasms are to Researches as Day is to the Sublime
because they impose upon the desertscape
an anti-honorific qua transitory hue
because the stars are filled with entertainment news
because throughout the news the people flow
past the garden and alarm factories
past the sparrows and Sibeliuses
the motorcycles knife-fighting in the yard
past the tree cosseted with mockingbird charms
because the tree in question is the tree of life
because the tree in question has grown out its hair
the scent of orange blossom is everywhere
Death Shall Not Define Us
Lately it seems that everybody
wants to talk about the duende,
the fluttering like a torn leaf
or grubby old childhood sheet
frayed by incident and surrender.
For instance, last week at the mall
a salesclerk in Bachman’s Shoes
tells me, as he’s lacing a pair
of coffee-with-cream oxfords,
that the song playing on the radio,
a muzaked version of The Way
We Were, has always reminded him
of how everyone must die.
So then why, I wanted to ask,
don’t we just pack our bags and go,
but I didn’t dare, seeing
that he too knew what it felt like
to want nothing more
than to swallow the future whole
like a little black pill.
Instead, I tried to lighten the air
by assuming my favorite pose,
that of the ridiculous man thinking
in his pinkish-white sport shirt
and new, unreasonable shoes.
There are those who say that death
is the definitive insult
in a world puffed-up by insult,
but I say death shall not define us.
Two bony, raw-eyed security
warily circled the open sales floor
as though measuring a cage.
Their tags read Angie and John.
The young salesclerk, his name is Don,
as in the coming light of, as in tomorrow’s.
