—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)
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