—after John Ashbery
On the out the dickens we didn’t try your recipe
to hold up the touted soufflé and make amends,
all but the gas oven standing its ground.
The ball park closes its eye to the sky and players
pray and swing their ballasts to packed applause.
A happy couple drifts closer, all the borrowed notes
and time being with you and that is enough.
The body shifts in all this, gradually the world turns
around on it, so we are bystanders standing up
to towering spiders and bury our things with us
in the crawl space where the narrative give way
to panic, the calm voice of reason then reassuring
despite the atonal motifs and turn of slashed signatures
the fingering on scales confines us to our favorite keys.
(Nov. 14, 2014)