I need you like this dance over to the special corner. I’ll take
every little black sports car that zips by the wet street,
dumbs the loud bright white of a half a foot of
nobody last night. I don’t ever want that to be said.
The midday bird steps across the median and into some dumb jogger.
I have a question about your outfit – who are you today? Two squirrels
don’t want the sidewalk—they slice through the frozen rinse above the lawn.
I’m happy for the lamppost and the new gray mountains in the distance
and the black trees as they dip mostly under the bright white that opens the world...
making their noses mock the frozen river. $10,000 could also be for the dead turnpike.
Run over the snake.
Or peer into the crayon and find clouds flowing out to sea.
