LXXI

a poem will out-parcheesi you any day of the week
in the race to finish, to capture opponents
the poem does one artful dodge
after another escaping the fate
it condemns us to
albino in the immeasurably white day
it is a whole spooky system
the poem dupes us, we enter
how many times have we heard jazz of that sort, at say, a café of that sort
though the outerwear is definitely polar
no expedition takes place
we run right into a future that boasts
giant stalks of rhubarb, freshly ground coffee, and free parking
there we are caught, closed in the empty lot, sold as slaves

 

XXXVI

tired campfire
fired marshmallow
my luck run
dry done
vanished
felled timber
sage of sorrow
page will
hear it all fore you
bear it
forgive me now, i cannot not
walk around in circles
talk in squares

 

L

scene is scary music
scene is colored crow and smells like harbor
scene is gas lights and hazy bulb, paris circa 1886
scene is scented bluefish and malt whisky
scene is boat’s motor humming and someone dropping softly
someone else’s body into mouth of harbor
scene is the sinking body weighted, and the lighthouse
flashing faintly in the woolen fog
scene is the blue blue light
and spy hidden
underwater
the information stuffed
inside his mouth
stolen from
the sinking body’s pockets

Copyright © Anthony Hawley, 2006.

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Anthony Hawley was born in 1977, grew up in New England and was educated at Columbia University. His first collection, The Concerto Form, was published by Shearsman Books in February 2006. He currently lives in Nebraska with his wife and daughter, and teaches at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln.