then he
an extra large painting of a house

an infelicity

nobody says an infelicity this doesn’t count
my point being

our unhappiness serves at table over tepid
plates of noodleness

are you and I bad words too
poorly aligned here

sure someone is unhappy out of sorts
counting the moments

to the great exhalation meaning not yet
but soon soon

if we’re lucky or before we die
one more crack

in the nervous purities I call the
way things are

or on a beach where say misery
angles for tenderness

as blue and finally unheroic as vast
stems of tulip-

minded history or in a blind car
in full sun

Comments

The comments to this entry are closed.