I take one more drive across town thinking about the retired welding teacher easing over that rise seeing the parking lot full of white men. I wonder if he thought he would die in the jungle [where no Vietcong ever called him [N-word] ] or he would die in front of the bowling alley [without ever having
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Recorded at the Chancellors Reading, Poets Forum 2014. NYU Skirball Center.
Night: wears itself away clouds too dense to skim over the shear granite rim only a moment before someone sitting in a mission chair convinced 101% convinced she could see into her very cells with her unassisted eyes even into extremophiles even with the light dispelled until the mind sets sail into its private interval of oblivion a hand falls from its lap a pen drops to a carpet a stand of leaves whispers as if to suggest something tender yet potentially heart robbing Sequel: to a dream in which faces flare up fuse dissolve but there is a lot of color before their vanishing and a name for such phenomena that comes from the belly of a lamb rather not a lamb anymore from the stomach of a particular canny but kind and blind-from-birth ewe for Susie Schlesinger