FORECAST

As lightheaded and imprecise as a sundial, I lie
collapsed in your yard while you manipulate the holes
in the ozone with an expert illusionist’s touch:
such is the nature of our coupling, a conundrum bred
between false breaks in the clouds: even the suit
on the evening news cannot say for certain which of us
will be accountable for the coming drought.



(IN)ADMISSIONS

Your insistent edge, your blade against film
blackening with an age of persistent realities—
the flick and flicker of revision upon revision—
the cut, compression and reassembly that slips
a sloppy pirouette into a lifetime spent rehearsing
the part of responsible citizen with such collusion
and smooth concussion among the warm sepia tones
that atone your denizens and console your witnesses—
such sharply exposed substance, their ribs, fingertips—
such credit for effort as makes respect requisite
among all the critics who would decry and dismiss
your memories with accusations of dismemberment—
your insistence upon screening the light of salvation—
your insistence upon keeping the seamless presentation—
your insistent edge, your blade aging against film—
your invitation and our admission consists of forgetting,
and such forgetting consists of dimming down  the theatre
until it turns silent, still—an idol hermetically sealed
but devoid of any form of oracular wisdom or consolation—
this is the state, the status, the static act that keeps us waiting.

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