even if punctuation is becoming a dead language
with the yellow-headed birds we call words. the fire they make when they move together. compelled beyond the ridge of some different grammar. the annuals. the balm we rub over what we call equal and all the other gray-haired beginnings. because there is meaning in the small things. famous dancers smoking two packs a day to stay skinny. fishermen who make stitching in their sleeves so they can be identified if theyíre lost at sea. yes. there is meaning in the small things. and meaning. also. in that which has no measure. that which breaks beforehand and nothing after. that which kneels with identification. the entire year of 2003. the anonymity of desire. what courses through a consolation. a springing. a plop. the choir one single. terrible were. were. a crack. a minus. were raw as meat on ice. because if you were good at impressions. Iíd ask to hear the voices of old friends. dead friends. through you. but there is no were about you. so Iíll ask you to mimic the curtains. the dry-wall. because theyíre happening. right now. right here. as silent as these words. which sound. so much. like someone. sawing. a violin. in half. a sharpening. a dog watching. itís master. eat. because we live on. meals. the routes of. favors. the variations of our own. nakedness. and the. intonations of green. how a single day. weighs so much. and sometimes weighs. just as much. as what the body. can hold. which might mean. very little. and might mean. eternity. a one-way street. which seems to be. the only kind of street. around here. maybe. an error. maybe. the only reason. I find my way. back home. softly. amateurishly. within the unspoken complexities. of actual dawn. where light is wasted the way gallons and gallons of water.
must filter. through a single fountain. Every day. and every day. the origins we made for water become. longer. stranger. as if water were so. foreign. our bodies could not take. the shock and strobe of it. as if the body. were not water. carved by water. its translations. of the deep, black bottom. and all the other fables of energy. how I want you to see my hand. over the page. as I write this. its occurrence. like what the poet said. about all the accidents happening. as natural as. water. as natural as. these croons. of construction. streets. so silent. you can hear the streetlights. change color. this submitting. the pureness of. acceptance. and all the exquisite. entrances. of misshapen. the crying of your sons. trying. to be born. like an ax. splitting cleanly. through wood. heat soaking the leaves. nights. so dark. you can barely bring yourself. to believe in the. moon. like a searchlight. for a world. where everything is made. with a lock. you imagine. the makers of this world. are searching for. a way. to make a lock inside a lock. and a lock inside that lock. because there is always. so much to hide. about being. human. like so many. yellow-headed birds. guarded. by the. the brush. what our neighbor refers to as. the horizontal blues. when she tapes those. Health Care For America Now! signs. on our front door. because there is no guarantee. that our bodies will stay. whole. wholeness. defined by. what we begin with. and what we begin with. definitely being. nothing. the classic. overages. a spar. without a mouthpiece. this meaning. we find in the small things. and meaning also. in that which has no measure. a choir of one terrible. single were. the many. varying origins we made for water grow longer. stranger. as if we were not made of water. and all the other fables of energy. a lock inside a lock inside a lock. a lock inside. of water. a lock. inside. of were. our were. the were thatís locked. inside.