there's no other judge who,
as i whisper a red guilty,
rises from the bench,
descends the wooden steps,
and surrounds me in the
safest of dark robes, embracing.

it's not important, really,

but right now i'm listening
to some joyless noises
coming from the next room

and my brain is getting tied
more tightly to my desk;
my chair; this pencil; this poem.

and my eyebrows slope
and humanity slides down them
into a saltwater pool
that is much too small
for drowning in

You have called us to messiness;
to be the world's secret volcano;
to grasp the globe and caress it
with hands mechanic dirty
and hearts of wool and snow.

You are a Wildness
who cast us, Your bronze effigies;
who made us animate;
emotional, even.
You put us in a dark closet
and taught us to strike a match.

I ( Read more... )

some oyster is laboring ( Read more... )

rain slides differently
across a pane of real glass.

meaning slides differently
across the pain of real life.

they recalled cummings:
"time is a tree,"

and they all died
happily ever after.

a daisy erupts through
the blacktop

like an interior view
of a tetanus shot.

a blackbird
completes the eclipse,

passing between my eye
and a 747.

and the neon signs
outshine the moon; bloodied.

as freedom is a breakfastfood ( Read more... )

“I liked all these things once ( Read more... )

*this poem is by Jack Gilbert, and it's gloriously depressing ( Read more... )