In the great publishing houses of the world | they are moving product

Container ships queue to enter port | cranes swing || Things | vote with their definition | choosing parties of the current circumstance | calm and actual in the | evening sun

Lovers can’t wait for the right moment <twilight, the | curve in the track> and drop into a kiss, peremptorily, it only | wants another kiss, that | hole in them with the bittersweet edge, and the line | direct to confusion

Forbidden romance | <hailstorm | fragments of hail | bebopping on parked cars | thunder | setting off alarms>

They’re tired from making love and lie in damp sheets | <characters>

On the table a battered book of Pasternak’s poems | Frank O’Hara on the shelves | drum | droll

In the gloom | the spirits of the letters all softly agitate | under the barcode | some slip away to start a new life, the rest | wait in the darkness and learn | the virtues of patience and the costs | of servitude

Tethered to a whim, the reader | is absorbed for days, then | vanishes for years…

 


from the series hypergrammar (open-ended, 2012–present)
(this poem, August 2012)