I
Finally, it’s good
this plague
Something had to
stop us
We knew it
From the beginning
it’s a cycle
Hard to be there
when it comes
But it’s good
II
You know the feel
of swinging on a
swing the part
before the drop
time
and training eyes and hands on solid
this or that
no endgame
A spit of lawn between low bushes
a city block where a crow walked with me
Poetry
Shoes like bread
Suspension without
passion
Suddenly it’s neutral
The bed has blankets
Death could fall upwards
just as well
III
These days
bound together
like bananas
bunched
bland
like dizzy spells
IV
A blessing
shouted into
non duality
Hello
There is so much now
That is unspeakable
Significance
drifts in and out
I wash my hair
That show that’s been
suggested
I want it
quick
before the fading
of its meaning
Structure
meet
non duality
Can you make
the leap
To deconstruct the hive
in this sea of
entropy
V
His beauty worked against him
The arrogance
of his height
His poise
See the executioner’s expression
his face
lost
lost
as he slips his hand
into his pocket
casual
As he rolls his knee
into his victim’s neck
And so the virus
runs wild with grief with fury
with Purpose in the streets
On my bookshelves
of long-forgotten treasures
I find James Baldwin
The Fire Next Time
His articulation
I watch police in various guises
jam shields into the crowd
batons, chemicals in orgies of release
I count the viral danger
as Multitudes march
now in distancing formation
now clumped
muscle to muscle
skin to skin
As through a narrow
passageway
to herd immunity
VI
The heal of my hand
to the tooth
of a word
Hunger coming
Notebook full of
graphite
Days ago
I sheltered here in place
Now it’s how I live
Run to poetry
grab with both hands
that loaf of bread
VII
She picks at her skin
Takes five minutes
to pull off a sock
What else is there to do
She’s had her last piss
Indulged in prayer
Good night eagle
she bids her bedside lamp
The bronze responds
Good night Simone
Then darkness
and random dreams
