You can stand in the rain,
you could lift the dark.
You could sit, not talking, even as
you finally get it. You imagine
the whole world is
you, in strange places.
You suspect, wrongly perhaps.
You take two extra seconds. The idlenes
of the TV: this is you, content
to roll over. Do you mean art
should be visible somehow? You’re almost
arguing. You’d say something else.
Keeping up, the other last moment, the now that, the okay then, the stand back. Grip with strength, but even, even odd. Tall, in the dark, tall with
(August 2002) Then at last I simply sat down. The vulturing pigeons ignored me and I lost count. See how the clouds come together into one,