Poem-A-Day #303 : Aisle 3

Aisle 3

There is the idea of a person who builds a bridge - an architect of spans
but I am not sure that these crossings exist

Here is a fire starting at the base of a tower - and there is always someone dying in fires
always a fire in need of someones to die

At the grocery store the faces all look like milk cartons
I scan them for expiration dates - fine the barcodes on their irises and tick them off my list

An overwhelming sense that this is a toy unwinding - collapse in aisle three
it's devoted to cleaning products - I am rolling on my back - a dying beetle

There are picnic supplies and they are all about keeping food away from things that live outside
and there is a canyon opening and closing its mouth between one shelf and the next

Legs to the sprays - arms to the plates
allow each cart to roll over the spine - train cars going to who the fuck knows

I do not burn bridges so much as not bother to build them in the first place
this suits - ill-fitting - but it does

Poem-A-Day #255 : Tired

Tired

In the face
                    the tired

Along the eyes mostly

A sort of indescribable thereness

                    Here

a lake to stare at

                    A sort of attempt at mirror

                    Imperfect in its temper

Can the water be tired

                    from its journey

                    from its pulse to the surface

Think about those rocks it leeched

The minerals that it described

                    A finger pressed

into rocky flesh until it gives