Current Events

The world is brittle, and incapable of turning inside out.
 
The world is anxious, and who knows if the stars believe in ghosts?
 
The world is dusk, soiled collars, it is in the turn of a leaf.
 
I write about robots, and railroad tracks, flowers, a list of poems 
so scrambled and disjointed and unlikely to be anything 
but scrambled and disjointed.
 
I write that astronauts and apple blossoms have the same haircuts,
even as the little yellow bird in the evergreen sings like the 
diameter of the moon.
 
I write for habit’s sake, to fend off the April morning, to no avail
keeping a firm arm span from the late summer night. I tend to a 
fiery garden, and measure its wingspan.
 
I write the barriers are breached, the temples quacked, the first 
of the first snow breaks apart the air, and nibbles on bright darkness.
 
The world is strident, and misadventure. The approximation of untruth. 
 
And yet I write of poems, how they dig in the dirt and find
comets that have yet to hit the earth.
 
That God is a few lines of chalk on the cement, and everything else.  

6 thoughts on “Current Events

  1. I don’t know why, but I associate the usage of those hyper-verses with courage. I couldn’t write them, or, were I to do so, I’m sure I could never pull them off. They require a steady balance and, I suppose, almost some degree of poetic panache.
    You did really well, Bob. You have some delicious geometry in this; it’s undeniable.

    Liked by 1 person

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