I see him counting his hundred Plastic bags a hundred shades and thinnesses I see his face I see hers Ragged street-sleepers under a pass Out of the rain together she resting I see his haunted cheeks his sores But walk on into my guilt Watching the inventions of a civilization Driving itself around And farting at home with the computer And soon eyes and hearts and cocks Will trundle out into the spheres Unhinged wistful alone I pass Whistling thru a sensate city Loving yellow night across the water thrown Cloudshapes out like monologues In a one-act in which 5:16 means twilight As if the script itself were caving in Virescence in the shadows of the trees the trees Cleave to the water and the people But I worry when the wind changes That we're all in danger The lamp-eyed cat and the unselfconscious birds Song-held in the cowl Of this corner of the enchantment A muttering industrial of tin and trash burglars Within which is this living image Of the couple of those my poet-friend calls Hikers forever down here His face a mess and she resting Where the downtown hotels deposit their sheets Where the government came years ago To bury its questions in the gentle mud
JESSE NATHAN studies, writes, and edits poetry. He lives in San Francisco.
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|Title Annotation:||two poems|
|Publication:||The American Poetry Review|
|Date:||Sep 1, 2016|
|Next Article:||New poetry in translation: friendships between ghosts.|