COUP
Mallarmé’s gambling
astonished everyone
even the poets
An acre of paper
sold down a river
whose blackbirds
would only
fly backwards
To abolish
a missing passage
The ‘never’
of printlessness
shipwrecked within
the greater blues
of untrackable changes
A fight thrown
across a border
unmaintained
as the spyware of the future
in which we used to live
BELL CURVE
A church, a school, a train
almost converge
Uncharming insect
unhanded bird
What we can’t see
won’t always kill us
with its unchained
sequence of events:
Kings Row, Folsom Prison
Charlie and the MTA
I hang my head
and try not to think
about what is
and isn’t food
Everything thrown
back into the stream
A train insists
as if the world
were in its way
The inland sea
is mostly corn
A fever dissolving
in the interrupted
air that bends
your clouds into the trees
with the unframed
excess of a dare
It’s in the middle
It’s just enough
