Why write poems in wartime?
Your alma mater is pathetic.
I Survive off melting photographs
& the deliciousness of the words tap-dance
around your head & dissuade themselves
Fat city workers scour & scar
molten asphalt. I ride by on my bicycle
pliant yet willing to have the next great
tidal wave crash down upon me.
& The letters disappear on my keyboard when
oscillations of fans blow through my mind
simple engine, oh gospel, why must life be so