cambridge, ma

somebody’s gone & torn all
the paper.
waved his wand
fingers about & emptied
the white sodden load over:
i am wet
cotton cutout doing the trick
i am working
i work, when
the water hurt
-les inside me. cold
takes time to unwrap himself
from things that haven’t yet learned
to warm. i am
a body, in the end; tongue
out like a pesky strap, unable to hook
onto things that melt, fairy

fodder

falling

as once the great stars fell
on alabama, & the great muscles
of land pushed into continents, & the great space
between the thighs of
our countries widened, i learned
that when we held
hands with history
we could almost forgive it.

For Gilbert Sorrentino.

Artwork by Wassily Kandinsky, “Winter Landscape” 1910

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