examine the holes for angels moving between tongues art of surgery upon light noisy clucking screen so between cracks see color a lush street covered in sun. On the phone someone reminds me of Zappa, “Don’t go near the yellow snow. Don’t go where the huskies go…” But there is no yellow snow only fresh white powder. I plop down and make an angel the snow so deep I sink right in. Plie myself with espresso and read Bernadette Mayer who happens to be writing about snow. I am getting closer to a rhythm of days finding angels in the holes. Outside, a woman yells at me for getting snow on the sidewalk she just shoveled. I shuffle on to get a sandwich and lemon soda.
I examine my coat for holes,
angles moving toward the symmetry of age,
a crack between tenses.
The Dutch for lack of chins,
round homely Van Loons,
employ their art instead of surgery,
a gauze of light, a color scheme, a screen.
Van Gogh's wheat fields at Arles, at Cuivers,
besieged by cows,
by thunderclouds, the Reaper,
the tongues of Babel just a temporary measure.
You former wastrel, just find the can for once looking in the wrong direction falling like a star here it’s all going like like fiberglass You You you the nitwit the gegenschein pinned the mooncalf tail of sky on autumn Maybe focus more on the body, there’s a substance that’ll stop the outline filtering forward from the depths of fallacy In this blurred sepia image you can’t teach a century to unlock sturm und drang tumblers and cylinders reflecting on the shift in the infrastructure, the oh-so-subtle activities and folds you itch to take apart employed inward yet again are kinds of origami but your gloved hands lull the galaxy.
Thinking, exist, break going down to perform, low bow which does not fire but yowl, outside triangulation Strangu- can leave and not perform that satchel scale which does not carry on, stitched to thinking flight on Beale Street and again, and to gain “it’s not exactly speech” (screech to a halt, squeal scalded arpeggio) which dares not, ground to a—you or ya’ll yawled, say yew, stretch up to, reach that, state your name or, say: “demographic of departure”, a flight of stairs, 12-string, downtown, grit or grind of the bar, sleep on it, stale, yawn out that yarn, that tale, that good ol’ boy tune, think, stay.