Thanatos

The highly successful firm

of Hopelessness,

Dissipation

and Ruin

has offices

in every major

city throughout the world.

Their recruiters are relentlessly

charming

to the vaguely

ambitious for self-sacrifice. Interviews

are

held

on the street, in apartments,

across boardrooms, among the destitute,

the middling, and the elite;

in the heart of our

decisive

need.

The Unconsummated Westerly

The unconsummated westerly

wind eventually

died

out

halfway

across Elliott

Bay, after a sojourn

thru

desolation

of desolation

of blank. It was midnight

in the curse

of failure

to

form, the bewatchful

hour.

Over The Brothers

another

wind

was

beginning to aim

east. But it

was too

late,

for the dead

breath and her soulmate.

Jake Reread the Donne

Jake reread the Donne

poem she’d emailed

him as a parting

word,

feeling

the extreme temperature

of how close she was;

then deleted the

message,

deleted

all

their

correspondence, and created

a filter to route future

epistles into

the trash.

He logged out

of Gmail and re-maximized

the espn.com article on the resurgence

of Marbury.

My Last Feeling

My last feeling

for her

crept

around

the corner,

heading west

on Pike yesterday

round midnight—understanding

it was best to simply

leave without

a throe.

The dome of the

First Covenant Church

in the dark television

of my window

pane

was sleeping like the child

we never attempted,

whom I still meet

in dreams.

The Locked Gray Door

The locked gray door

of his room felt

to Claire

like

metonymy

for their relationship.

She sat in the poetry

of disconnection

on a mauve

couch

in the lounge

listening to Leonard

Cohen resounding out

the open door of another

student’s room

down the

hall.

She wondered why the music

didn’t move her at

all.

I Never Had Anybody (After MM)

I never had anybody

much,

concluded

the 19-inch Magnavox

television inside the

green

dumpster

in a monotone

voice of unfeeling 90s

technology, to the other

discarded

contents

of the young

woman’s apartment. You

got us,

said

the dusty, Black

& Decker window

fan,

partially

buried beneath

a hillock of dresses.

Not catching the dry

in these words,

the TV

misted.

One of the Unacknowledged

One of the unacknowledged

unacknowledged

legislators

of

the world

was attempting

a mid-afternoon nap

on his only

day

off

from

working

in the deep

yours;

unsuccessfully,

because a stream

of

proposals

for statutes

and amendments,

kept

mixing

into the metaphor

of nonexistence.

Hunger

pains

in an all-you-can-eat

America were ignorable

in

comparison.

The Reincarnation of Hope

The reincarnation of hope

as a fragrant pink

water

lily

near the edge

of an unmanicured

pond in the wilderness

beyond

discernment,

was a surprise

to the incarnation

of resignation the wanderer

had

become. He stepped

closer to the violence

of beauty

in the world, and

saw shivering a

reflection

of

mystery

in the water.

The Stuff That Collects

The stuff that collects

on the outside

of my window

like

a despairing

prayer to be

let in; or

maybe,

more prosaically,

like the spirit of

Jackson

Pollock

ubiquitous

and indiscreet.

What exactly are those

all-over

streaks

whiter than rain,

paler than pigeon

shit?

There’s

progress

in description

but understanding

comes

only

with touch,

taste.