PLASTIC BAG
Waving from a tree limbone handle free breezefilling the sacksail w/o craft full-bodiedfailure discardedyour form is emptiness emptinessvalue thank you thank you thank youthank you cascadingdurable membraneagain not full againtrash carrying trashnever to be depletedsupple soft crinkly creasesyou’d roll like a tumbleweedstillness at the centermore always comes outa parody now of goods at handyou hide nothing eighteen timesyou can return to formcoffin mask luggageof outcasts nomads pressedinto flight resistant stable noapparent characterorphaned childwe never ask aboutyou cycle through familiescirculating systemsporeless you capture moving airopen to the future risingfrom what was dead skinhair nails fluids absorbedby two-ply productyou speak your own languageoffer help to allaccept what others avoidthe hand turns youinto a quick mittfor picking up shit vomitunidentifiable eviscerateevacuate & readydo you have room in your bagI have a little roomone plum followinganother thoughtthe whole storyin there all the voicesfound in translationnothing less humanHorn of Fortunastorehold of plentyof what we useto mark our place in timein you too we carry homethe shadow side of lifethat can’t be touchedonly releasedlike the epicwe forget you crushedup in our pocket until it’s too latewe throw you awaythrow you backthe reason I have greatdistress is that I havea body unlike youneither beautiful nor uglywithout confusionyou signify depthmultiplicity the absenceof force wordless teachingfrom a tiger’s throatno one can grasp youthere’s no struggleunblossomed patientlight with a lost hero’swanderings through long absenceyour motionmy puny flaps & freaksthe idling spiritby its own moodsinterprets everywhereseeking of itself listeneralways waitingfor the unexchangeable momentlike a child concentratingthe room’s softest breatherlet’s get into itwoodpecker knocking locust treehardwood open soundcardinal flies through low to the grounddahlia stick like anemonetoplit by sun curatedanxieties aversions how you turnfrom those who love youstop doing thatthe Norton Anthology can’t save yousecond edition 1975scored at the Truro dumppristine after 45 yearshas no James Schuylerthe poet with the most beautiful namewrote the most beautifulnothing to protectfits in your hand like a treasure boxcan only offer you whatyou already don’t havethe bag of windsgifted to Odysseussends him off courseten years when the crew opens itand lets it all outgo ahead open itwhere you headingjust keep goingsays Goethe and shut up about processlike the five escaped zebrastechnically a zealthey fled a private farmand continue to roam the suburbs of Marylandnot easy to catchthey know how to avoid lionsw/o a single day of training or instruction surviving quite easilyon the high slopes of Kenyaa general point of originfor the phoneme patternthat mirrors patternsof genetic human diversity as it spreadthroughout the worldfrom the sub-Sahara 70,000 years agoall the way to Cape CodGull Pond October watercolder now just a touchof death in it shoots to the bonewakes you upto the bugs theresun elevators downbehind tree curtainmigrating starlings spatterabove the water divingskinning the surfacethat’s right skinningto feed then cuttingupwardlike orchestrated loose bladeshunger coordinatedsnipping the air openingdimensions overheadtheir circling stretchingellipse shifting centers abundant vacant on your backdrifting fatwhite seal beneathfractals in flighttwisting heart soundsmixing with dust grainslike micro-Romanescosprouting on the roughdark pond faceslippingif I’m luckyinto a new frame of referenceto become charged with meaningand redeployed with an entirelynew function it’s embarrassingthe clumsiness of artin its opposition to mere beingdoesn’t stand a chancebut at the exactly right moment (said my friend)the bag is stilland holds its breath.
