SUMMIT

outside the gated window there is the steady

churn of machines in a blind alley.

chrome and airshafts give strange shadows,

kill plant life and shut in.

over the tops of the buildings

in the early afternoon

patient sunbeams hurdle brick,

leak across radiators

find my hands and catch my eyes

the poor death of you in my bed

with our complaints

and the endless rubbing of eyes

the radio

i left on

the day finds me in

a closed hunched centralized position,

breathing a greed and a war

and an arid word I’ve

used before.

a tough time had by all,

faster than you can imagine,

collects like an hour’s dust.

our fingertips kneel and trace

the paranoia and strength

that comes from injury

and the clarity and incapacitating rage

that comes with

time

the arrangement of the maps on the

walls is again eloquent and the

books pile up and fall over

and the radio keeps playing

the old songs

and the new songs

we watch the world come in like ships…

we put on coffee and wait

we fall asleep with our eyes open

and sweat.