The wind took a dastardly turn
In Saginaw, in Saginaw
Oh it rains x or y times a year
In Saginaw, in Saginaw
I know you’ve had that feeling
In Saginaw, in Saginaw
Oh I know you’ve had that feeling
In Saginaw, in Saginaw
In his free time, and it’s all free these days, he throws together spiders that run databases stitching together relevant data to plug into variable fields in his poetry.
In “In Saginaw, in Saginaw” it queries for the average yearly rainfall for Saginaw, for Saginaw.
a new poem, then,
without tangle
or predecessor
a true poem
born now as
mosquitoes bite
and sweat beads
and I’m not thinking of you
before the sun slips down
breathless and weightless
our story played out
against the night sky
I can’t help slipping into it
it’s a natural law here
momentum, inertia,
trajectories too expensive to alter
the moments sweep past
you and you and you
against the sky
a prologue, then, or epilogue
Your love is plumb round
The planet from you
And you got water to collect
For Earth, they ran through
Their supply allotment
Long time ago
And it’s on you
And your love is plumb round
The planet
Also collecting water
For home.
But no one thinks about love
As they dismantle the Jewel.
If your eyes didn’t sparkle
I wouldn’t be lying here
Seeing them in the night sky
“Stop! You must curtail your bizarre behavior,”
says the man with the stick,
“You really must,” he says
adjusting his hat.
But, he’s not talking to me,
he’s talking to the creature we become—
in the stretch back to the first realm.
“Adjust behavior and commiserate elsewhere,”
says the fat man
“You really must,” he says
poking the creature’s chest.
The creature, call us Communion,
howls indignant turns back to the wall—
string dangling from our slippery hands.
“Non-compliance is unacceptable,”
shouts the rigid man,
“Unacceptable and you must stop,” he shouts
and we pay em no mind
We are disconnected from that world,
there is only blood here and glue and string—
this creation nothing else.
