Figuring
Out the Spread
Robert
Lietz
Not
the first to dream or make their case
for gravity, dreaming of falling parts, and not the first
to wonder that their words could
fail to say so,
marveling
the Mayday snows, gossiping April's
custodies, never the first but visible, and keen
as they'd come to be on doubt, talking
off the top,
thinking
to make some what? or anyhow stay put,
deciding, even as weathers must decide, to stand
on their luck and boasts of good
stock simmering.
A
man-- polite among the forms-- surveys the crimps
and registries, seeing what foods these cousins like,
inviting him to laugh, or saying
what somebody
thought
of him, laughing off the twists, dream-frauds
and hovering commotions/those tracks beneath
the sills, those barefoot tracks
where bodies floated up,
presenting
themselves to him like overnight deliveries.
Matters of fact maybe, the breathing pine made split
or blown apart to start a vigil,
because the blooms
were
overgrown, because they had gone ahead as told,
reeling with the peppers and engrossing cloves,
acting their own stuffed selves
and x-ing vowels out,
assuming
this ease to match the international reporting.
And what re-seeded lots, and what suburban
back-lots left to railroads, what
foods these cousins like,
reveal
less a world as is, reveal the tricks where voices
seem to rise from the construction, to speak
from the cement, from the surfaces
made to glow
with
cosmetic bristling, no longer exactly comfortable,
and always a little out of touch, no longer
amused in the old ways, to sharpen
brunch-warmed
alphabets,
spooking to glow from spore
-sprung desolations and veneers.
The
2River View, 2_1 (Fall 1997)
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