Tuesday, November 12, 2019

mmcmxxix

The window is a sword.
                       —Jack Spicer

And the pen is might-
ier. Or so said Edward
Bullwer-Lytton in 1836.
Ink on the outdoor side

of a window is usually
graffiti, which is van-
dalism. As I write you
a poem using my pen

on this window, my
nose, pressed ag-
ainst it, cold, each
breath making

two streaks of
condensation
flaring down
toward the sill,

elongated
triangles,
snow
cov-

ering,
the fam-
iliar land-
scape

of my
view,
which
lies in-

ches now
underneath
the powder,
getting stick-

y.... Back
when Bos-
ton was
my

world.
Now,
that dis-
tant view

gives
the land-
scape of my
memory brain-

freeze. Hot
and sticky
in San Fran-
cisco; unu-

sual, but
now hard
into autumn.
And it has been

this way since
springtime. No
snow in 20 years.
Now the cold ice

in my head might
as well be hot;
hot like a tongue
stuck to a flagpole.

mightier than the sword