Someone Matching Your Description
you wake me up, Veronica
to escort you to the door to the unknown
I am slapped awake and paperless;
my eyeglasses abandoned on the ledge
startled
a tongue triggered dry
staring into eyes emptied of the exact shape of
mercy. they are ice.
you, Veronica, are beside yourself
your face a burned down house
count
me in so I can walk with you, Veronica
though you are mostly alone
(even)
dry eyed
at your own funeral
•
(even)
being of two minds is not enough
when Jacob
wrestled with an angel
I wonder
who wrestles with me
or you (even)
to argue “reasonable” doubt
when I know they never leave their
guns
they carry them
in churches, bars and court rooms and put
“scare” quotes around the world
they
are never mistaken
there are no words for mistake
no words
for mistake
no reason for indefinite register
•
they speak in a prose that refuses to be tamed by thought’s inflection, always
mad as hornets in a front pocket, inedible, stuck on the fear of deserved
reprisal, the axe that never quite falls, hold that thread please, so they call
to quarry, prey, foot stool and chattel, someone’s back to stand on, to enable
them to climb the ladder faster, unletter the ladder faster and limit equality to
a single call, a single meaning, a single tongue, a simple song for how long.
•
there are no words
for mistake
no
obvious thread that binds the master
to the missing supply of mastery
(even)
sleeping history’s abolished fictions
live absent the bigot
whose afterthought is our
undermine
(just)
one knowing: what is known from before
and knowing what the owners of copious knowing
know
without speaking, say without saying
exactly, “be my scapegoat, my sex toy, my
just dessert, my bowl of candy
profits, my penciled thought, my extinction.”
•
This is where love comes in
there’s so much to do for justice, we’re running out of brink. so I grab my socks and
pull them up. slip the latch on my one-track mind and avoid the chair that catches
me with a nap. I point my feet in the left direction, prove, I am all ears, work with the
pivot, the hip
the city, its dance map, avoid the cemetery of stubborn spots. avoid walks with a slow
crawl, and notice the furnished detours along the way
Each step one takes in public, jars the partially apprehended panorama of the cookie
cutter’s regrets and is an occasion to learn from the field of the interior. Here. the
street home, catalog, collected histories of first aid and relief, post no bills on dread,
seek out uncollectibles, be suspicious of fancier goods lost then found, bravery starts
from the bottom in love notes warriors send souvenirs home
The simple assault of questions too numerous to canal, the sky’s not the limit, it turns
out the breeze a whisper of eighth notes detached from the staff, birds wing by named
and numbered in regimented flight, no words without commitment to the act of
answering
or defaulting to an I don’t know
This is where love comes in coat on or coat off, hat on or hat off, go back for
gloves, go back for umbrella, go back for scarf, for plastic orange glasses, rain
boots with frog face on the toes, they like them, the boots remind them in their
looking
for all the world’s details undetectable plunge beneath scrutiny,
their small hands fitting perfectly into mine
let few events escape
marking a turned page like a bookmark
as if dropped on the path days ago, shows up later in melting snow.