Ready

It is always possible.

There are several forms
it is more or less
likely to take

at any point—
but it won’t
except by chance.

I need you
to locate this,
get at it

where it almost
is, almost isn’t
floating in near vacuum.

Feel it out
until “ping”
is its pronoun.

I am ready
to be displaced.

Chill

Ta-dum.

I want to make something
out of nothing

then sparkle and chill,
chill and sparkle

like a constellation.

A silver droplet hanging
from the tip
of each split leaf.

A drop
and its odd
diminutive.

Your Business

“It’s hot in the summer,”
you tell the stranger,

speaking in code
you no longer understand.

*

The wings of the iris
are ruffled, you say.

Bach’s muscular pauses
allow for repetition.

*

Beings vary only
in stress

and duration,

occupation and
preoccupation.

*

While you push a dung ball
uphill,

with infinity’s
patience,

you propagate bursts
of viral

likes and shares.

The Sleep Problem

1

“If there’s anything I can do
to help me,” I said.

That’s not what I meant.

I must hold my intention
in my mind’s eye
or it will go astray.

I must remember
to intend
to hold it
tenderly.

2

“Kickity-doodah,” I say,
when you flop over
in bed, thrashing—

meaning zippity-brouhaha
in a language I keep forgetting
you don’t speak.

3

A sentence
begins and ends

in the present
but on the way

we need to hurry.
Zippity-Doo-Dah

is a slave song
commissioned by Walt Disney.

Elmer Fudd aims
his blunderbuss,

his boundless, abstract
rage.