Out for a Walk

The Poets

what chance do the poets have
there is no place left for sentiments
not with the rise of robotics
our myelin sheaths replaced with tightly wound electrodes

we won’t need hands for holding or legs with veins and arteries
the lymphatic system was always terribly inefficient
and of course, this goes without saying
our hearts will be preserved and displayed
in abandoned museums of natural history

when the time comes the poets not afraid
will keep their sacred organs
gather on the edge of civilization
and eat what the earth provides

untitled

the greatest giants have now bowed to benevolence
this does not take a lifetime, i should know
as rain slicked streets reflect
fourteenth story stars

Soon, we will have no need for our bodies
this is not ideation
but hope that our shared corpus callosum holds steady
right never estranging the left

A Different Type of Trio

ONE

I understand the heat
but if we were to open the windows now
specter lined paper would rustle
I have more respect for the spring than that

even the birds fear that summer is coming
as they make idolatrous calls at dawn
I would allow a lot to happen
in the name of a saint sacrificed and nailed

each keeper will save what they will

in the closed study shelved with broken spines
you dared take a kiss from the son
no one had yet explained the cosmic pressures
the enveloping of the skies

Yes, you realize, you must
all the waiting in between
lead the boys to rob the jockeys trying to get there first
we are all trying to get there first

but again, it is the time in between
naked, perspired, and praying
on those forewarned nights with windows hastily opened
that empower the cynics and expose the poets for fools


TWO

it really is as simple as a boy who was never loved
poets driven to madness
red eyed and clambering
nights spent contemplating unification

“holy trinity I’d like you to meet the stars”

a body a vessel
a mind a battery
but love, yes the poets are the ones
who fear not proclaim it
as the bit and lead
of struggling homesteaders tearing the earth apart


THREE

I’m sorry that you cannot see it this way:
as music across the sky
as a respectful delousing

but I have to admit you were the one with lice for friends

come spring we dance in the light

i regret to inform
we have become enmeshed
familial weight decreasing
perfection unrealizable
i cannot wait for the fall

tip-toed around my own shadow
till burst forth and ran off
there can be no development
once time passes for light

outside now, grace has appeared
to grant clemency for all
if only for the time
that weeped willows dance