Someone inside says, "Get busy." But I've got appointments to keep, I have an abstemious love of equations calculated quickly While the tepid day melts into design. And the high cheekbones of the beautiful life Bear the loose look of a calendar by lamplight. I search for patterns in everything. I am tied in knots of comprehension. I think, how useful it might be To pierce all the hands of the earth With an oath of pins encircling snarling planets But talent and shallowness sewn together Is nothing but a kerchief tied around a survivalist's head, And it helps to know the feet wriggling through a hole In the universe will land for an instant Upon the cushions of the dark, And that after marching one doozy of a kilometer after another, We each come upon the same poem scribbled in invisible ink Taped to the door of a room In which an austere justice is burning for us.
A plausible place, this sea of air.
Somehow, the fragments of a later
Time get pulled out of the memory.
The earth surges up, the snow covers
Us. The blackened lungs of a bird
Cry out in the shaped bones
Of my hands. Walls of dust,
The bright little stars above us,
Who can crawl into the tiny black
Sky with reverse symmetry?
My brother, you really filled my head,
And now it’s time for me to fly
Out with or without the beautiful passages
Where my mind used to be.