111.

The signposts were up

for the readers, for the poets to clue in:

No more poetry with possessives

& there you were, holding my hand

a possessive

my hand

 

Signpost 1:

your head is broken

your is a possessive

your head belongs to you

 

Signpost 2:

my head is broken

my is a possessive

I own my own head

 

Signpost 3:

our heads are cloven

our heads is a plural possessive

 

Signpost 4:

a hateful eye meets a mean eye

 

Signpost 5:

exit ahead – Amach

we’re almost there

hands still entwined

we’re laughing

homestretch

 

112.

The glass in your hand

is full of the night sky

the moon in it is clear, full & bright

 

Take a sip

this taste of glory

doesn’t mattert

doesn’t really matter

 

The moon shimmers in the glass

resplendent

next to the red umbrella beside it

the moon in my mouth is a delightful crunch

your blue on mine is a moment I can’t buy

& the warmth down my throat

is worth a morning that will not show

 

113.

second floor

green paint

a clock counting down to eternity

the moon

a soft & exhausted sun

two or three women who look alike

men who look nothing like you

a scowl

we’re still walking through this poem

 

114.

out in the distance

the desert creeps

in the same pace it has for millenia

as the lineup of witnesses decreases

— they have work

children other obligations

so now just you & me

to watch the desert crawl

 

115.

On the top floor

Christ & the devil in deep conversation

fineprinting, the two of them

fineprinting the laws of devotion

& the meaning of sin

 

beside them a scawl on the wall

a heart with an arrow

between N & A 4evah

 

Shandon explodes in a warm glow

nothing changes

nothing remains the same

now I know, I know