There Should Be
Why does the vampire bat
drink my bloody things?
There should be
pygmy bats
two centimeters long,
so tiny the insects’d
have a fighting chance.
In mortal August combat,
they’d buzz
the soup the sandwiches
the stiff meringues
of diners
in the Everywhere and the All,
owners out on the stoops,
brushing their pants
through daily
neighborhood harangues.
My work at this desk
is encircled by coronas,
and my work is sprawl.
Yet I hate this desk.
Blue Memo
Innumerable birds
erumpent from the bush
are worth more
than one in the hand,
or a handful of words.
+
In love, I have
such high standards
I sometimes break things off
simply because
I can’t stand myself.
+
They’re the same size,
they’re both purple,
they both smoke and cough—
how does a whale’s liver
know it’s not Winston Churchill?
+
He was fascinated by the death
tourbillions of the coolie loach.
In the window,
three swimming pools converged,
then millions.
