OPENING A TRANSPARENT EYE
FROM WITHIN THE PHOTOGRAPH
From breadbasket to bottleneck tilting--
up-look into nothing relevant--
I do, I did, I am still waiting.
The sun is off, its mettle lost
within the green willow's weeping.
The photo breaks its graph
each time a whitecap streaks
& does to shore what both must like it to
until it's done & what is done
is done to you.
It's breathy but for the branches
& the bark which drool & take
to task no one who stops
& stands beside
despite "no roots" I have today
& cannot hide
the bottom or the branch
against some other gravity
churning the distance
sympathetically.
There's a cigarette somewhere
& stones where they shouldn't be
with names on them
that people haven't earned
& yet they etch each letter carefully.
Beside the shores of Erie,
summer falls
like a footprint--moist--
pressing flat,
down to where
there's nowhere left to go.
I'm plumb & plumb
another's step
at a toe's depth
& the lake keeps painting
& the lake keeps pounding.
Adam Brodsky
AINT MENTA BE DBLE SPACED
The rain and dark are as evening:
Subtler, more roomy than the blasted
Day being day as day is day ever
How slick to be feel the rain in a house
And change hunches on:
-->what the time may be
-->which month it even is
-->whether that gold finch couple will return
-->if my shoes will even work
now that i wrestled with the laces to
make things tighter
me thinks, the brighter side
is working a long shift for bonus pay
and i of the goldfinch desire for free; laze evening
style, could be May.
Bree
