An Aside to Urban Development
Beside the Schuylkill's muddiness,
blue-ribboned commendation, cost-containing surfeit of
left out, forsythia, wild roses,
oh, that unconscionable berry-thick mulberry tree,
a field of yellow sweet clover,
of mullein, tasseled grass, of yarrow -
what would have been, branch tracings on the snow -
no hostiles nor captured.
Can't you hear them,
that herky-jerky wheezing -
but for the cattails wavering
who knows what could have happened?
How distant can you be
still hoping to be accepted?
Now, nostalgia. For what?
Bloodied serrated edges,
what I have never been held to?
Whose doorway was it? Those spots that waxed and waned.
A merry-go-round of cousins.
intrepid cataloguing brings out unacknowledged gratuities,
still, I can not master the path home.
A cautionary note conveyed,
eyes winking every which way.
A Catalogue of Sorts
Whispers and a continent in-between.
Lips that I, too, had touched.
Someone's arms, someone else's.
Faces, some haunting, some crowding.
Now, or was it then,
but was it?
Long, salaciously long
for any notional thing
and not escape even upon sleeping,
even a nightmarish fumbling,
only to reconnoiter where it might have been.
Encountered? Adlibbed, estranged.
Granted no easement
longing seems to have no feel for anything.
what followed cracked;
noteworthy, not one guarantee,
throughout the total happenstance of,
Anything You Can Think Of
Trellises and shade,
squirrels and rocks,
rain, dry rot -
or pass untouched.
And more than hesitant
the least botched.
nuts and pits,
powder and a woman's face,
cries, a baby's crotch.
'Any cup will do.'
Laundry being folded
as well, well, as anything,
you can think of.