What Really Happened
Cherry blossoms, confetti, a sidewalk
lost like a ball. Closing gates, hands
unfolding letters, blankets, anesthesia.
Snowfall & its shadow. Christian boys
up & coming like washrags on a spout,
belts missing like a rib. Jokes turning
on surplus of seeing, tree & the pollen
& the bees. Translation toward rules
of a blackened skirt. Fuel & firewood,
divorce & ruin, a vision like drinking
like lions or shares. Like old portraits
slipping out of reach. An idea of spring.
Opening Night at the Discotheque
This throbbing mystery, diction
when friends save face & remove
their faces altogether. Shackled,
they aim my complicated steps
that drop fully into dark streams
slurring. I revolt, keen pleasure
keeping this dance from igniting
like a globe. My visions include
bottles spinning, juggled knives,
men & women edging erratically
on three hands for a retro hustle.
I’m a different me than that me
you recollect. I’m old fashioned
& the running man not yet born.
Crowds imbue the polished floor
like apparitions, a revolving cast.
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