Sounds Like Love
A spacial infirmity
what’s closed-up like a child in a closet,
too softly to be heard. Like
the little stream
with the broken back
that behind the barn collects
the bitter run-off. A scarlet sky
foretells the fall
0f humankind. Clouds like saggy diapers.
The fields flex their big muscles,
getting ready for the stare-down
with the stars. It’s winter,
then summer comes perfumed like a toiletries salesman.
Raspberries bend quadrate
branches like children
about to swing into eternity. I’m limited,
she says, but not alarmed,
and ineffectively violent. Sometimes
we block love
like dump trucks on strike at the kiln.
The closed-off future
taps at the window. It’s the echo
that’s scary. Suffering
completes its tax return,
listing no dependents. The papered-over
bits have shifted in the night.
Grim looks grimness
in the eye. You always
taste of salt. At the site tiny
among the balled-up dresses.
been cut out and used
for a footbath. Sounds like love,
says the mayor, but then to me everything does.