Better Than Heaven
So many set asides, you say, intemperate
millionaires, those responsible for our welfare,
and individuals without malice
who goofed, the jail cells of our misery
damp with the morning chill, you say, done with, ruined,
the worst has happened, those we trusted, trimmers
at Zabar’s carving the lox, and the wisdom
of children, finished, comparisons invalid,
the stupefied escape artists
and ministerial candidates and the self-satisfied
disposed of,
the rescued returned to the floods
and fruit pickers, those who catch beauty
aflight on the sweet-smelling breeze, authentic characters
messed up, dead on the floor
of western motels, crapped out jinxed, lost
to the boulevards, you say, past saving,
charlatans and poseurs, the wise, minxes in damaged fur coats,
drapers and stevedores
watching cartoons reflected in project windows, even
this compared to that, you say, and metaphorically, antique cars
gathering dust in apartment house garages,
old ladies getting sick from their cats, drunks,
homeless women fat on starch, the confused,
young boys ready to die, those still able to capitalize
and producers of change, you say, erased,
gone over, discontinuous, possibly lost,
ruffians and finicky brutalizers
and brilliant talkers, the fake, well-wishers
and party boat captains, those out on bond, the repairmen
just now popping the lids on their coffees, you say,
sailors unmissed drowned, and wives
up for spousal abuse, unaccounted for
now, exhausted in little byways
out of the light, something, you say, better than heaven,
replacement crews undone, lovers hexed, something about this
tremendously appealing, you say, the quiet
in the abandoned mining camps,
the little trails across the desert that turn into artworks,
leads, possible meaning.
