mosquito man mosquito man

mosquito man mosquito man
in your mosquito truck
known only by your power
to fortify the neighborhood
with the magic of low-lying weather
a fog of DDT intoxicating as
mimosa flower as tasty as
vinegar on crowder peas
irresistible to kids on tricycles
of one mind and all alone
pedaling like crazy into
utter discombobulation
better than whirling round and
falling better even than the fair
was it forbidden–probably, or not
kids’ ears attuned to the truck’s low
hiss moving slowly enough for a
four year-old to catch up to
the smoke bomb of another
reality, forever conflated with
the clouds and mystifications of
Sunday school heaven
a place you could go into
where there was nothing else

 

 

 

 

Where do you live where

where do you live where you look
your desert from a satellite or
what heat hides inside itself
how easy malice circumnavigates
all additions to the convex you
and your nimble earthquake lights
independent of your gravity
a great wind blew & they dispersed
the squandered armada like that
other one we await the return on
mile-high rockets or lost shoes
frankly we’re so tired we’re ramified
meandering tourists after lift-off
miscellaneous numinous weapons
they break into your heart your
dark room and poisonous ring
the mystery to parse and pace

Where the pen went

Where the pen went,
the mind had flown
where the mind flew
it paced the air, waiting
for a clear runway,
running out of fuel
above the spinning
earth atilt, askew,
a manuscript of crossings
and erasures to the west,
below, the glassy eyes
of lakes and rivulets
the mirrored sun
flashing up, flashing
into that mind that was
all engine roar and
perturbation, knocks
and sudden drops
and sudden altitude.

In the Dreamy Dream

in the dreamy dream the deer becomes
a dinosaur, the hunter hangs his clothes
out on the line, the stop sign does not say stop
the clocks do not keep time, the dogs
have made a playhouse with the wolves

in the dreamy dream you drive a dreamy car
that becomes a dreamy boat that then becomes
a dreamy snake–listen, he whispers
something sinister is going on beneath
those dreamy trees down at the dreamy pond

in the dreamy dream the blood pressure cuff
is a shark’s mouth, all measurements
everywhere close down
someone is saying something but
you are hearing all the things
no one has ever said

in the dreamy dream no one is waiting for you
when peace comes everyone is gone, when
all the world has been translated
no one lingers, no one arrives
every door there has a secret
every revelation has a secret side

 

Remnants of Karen

Karen offshore still
and still lopsided
generally headed north
things could go downhill
later today or tonight
high seas storm surge
the center of Karen
no longer well-defined
the reason not
immediately clear
her remnants
raggedly eastward
entangled photons
but it doesn’t require
near-perfect detectors
in the Gulf
a done day is
a day of preparation

Words like fences or dams

Words like fences or dams,
something you can’t see through,
something to keep things in check until
you’re alone with yourself–
there’s just no escaping genre.

That thing not recognizably you,
things you’ve taken on for no good,
where the surprise came from–
what, were you not looking?

Better a hand to keep from harm–
shoot well the hart says to the hunter–
the field’s still wide open
but the world’s compressed into
the worst possible place.

How love makes difference, then
how there’s no sorting what’s asunder
when you didn’t know it was.

The flower is the secret of

the flower is the secret of the seed
fire is the secret of the air
the killer is the secret of the gun
the document, the signature
the body is the secret of our blood
grief is the secret of death
the emigrant, the boundary
the poet, the pen