what are those things you are

by the grave of last impressions

the bird that can’t cry

though there is no now like now

                          

those things you tied together

in the last single hour

with that musty clock

and the tapping of some god’s

finger on your head             

enough to break a petal from its neck

 

that thing you carried

(and you were amazing)

the cage with a need for only you

when you opened it

the exclamation cloud

dripped a black sleep on my pillow

 

its poison stopped the little hand

that hammered on the door

it was blood shut for a dreamy carriage

a marathon of absence 

will cure us both

 

consequences became you

and I held my hands each day

until the flowers died

I ate the mountains I climbed

with no tongue on which to place

the flags of my conquest

the miracles melted in my jaw

 

what are those things you become

away from this and always

with your skin in a bag

and your heart no longer a heart

we meet between the wheels

alive and not alive

where there is nothing to give

that cannot be dead and beautiful tied

“until the trees see again

the other name I had for them

 

until the geranium protocol

is passed

 

until the gun

finds the incense

 

shall we sit down

and fashion crosses for our cause”

 

MTC Cronin

Our life is a box/Prayers without a God

 

it was in the city we made the tall council

 

to keep the sky up

 

to meet and agree and argue

 

to think it is

 

that when i’m sweeping under the eaves

 

and look up through this thing i built on you

 

i wonder where the people are

 

who i thought we were

 

dropping my life from a window

 

i’ll say she has fallen

 

right (points) here