poems

• The Terror

  The terror

  only

  lasts

  for seventy

  five

  years,

  more or less,

  and then the building

  is

  complete

  and you can simply

  live

  in

  it,

  above it,

  like a dove.

  Haunting the First

  Avenues and the Mains

  and the Broadways

  by

  day

  is just

  the beginning

  of the marvelous.

  Take off your Chevrolet

  poise,

  and

  see.

• Anywhere Sidh

  The wanton word

  calling to mind

  is closer than

  pulp to the rind,

  soft to the bird.

• Mount Ararat

  A tiny bug

  on the window

  of our goodbye

  stays all winter,

  a sign of why.

• Snubbing Cadenza

  Paul Revere was

  irreverent

  to almighty

  George, prevalent

  as a zero.

• Social Medea

  I use it as a bookmark,

  the stub from “Children of Men,”

  that meh movie we saw at

  the Angelika.

• One and Sundry

  
  There was a hot spring

  in the new development

  off Cherry,

  
  and we swam in it,

  like intruders of the well-

  curated night of quiet abandon.

• Psychologically

  Psychologically

  there

  wasn’t

  a bough

  to his branches,

  and his roots

  all

  rose

  to the sun.

  In the middle of the

  night a paw

  print

  appeared

  in the basement,

  as the invisible

  creature of

  his

  mind

  manifested

  under the house.

  In the morning the real

  dogs

  wondered at

  the

  ruse,

  smelling its

  dust

  for clues.

• Seagulls Don’t Have to Quarrel

  All the haircuts

  tectonically

  rubbing my eyes:

  ironic, twee,

  trawling carefree.

• Preview

  Tribalism,

  the video

  game version, is

  super ago

  and ultra um.

• A Living Icon Pitching to a Grown Troglodyte

  Mal-twitterversed

  of scrawling pose,

  hold my last hand,

  enthrallingly

  a little wet.