My body in bed in the L shape is bad.
Through the dressing room window a pink and blue light up.
I know what I’m doing.
The upper floors of my box are finished.
Fragment plus fragment equals fragmentation and we can work harder with what we have left of what we have lost or what we have left of what we never had.
Raise the level of the fish pond, make a bread head, smile, whatever.
A white woman in a white snow rides a bus.
We’re getting closer to the thing now that breaks the busyness around it: modern libraries and highways, then postmodern, then remodern, then done.
Out the window is a table.
Gladness is hard to trust like a tall dead tree and its tall dead reflection which does not strike deep into the water as it seems to.
I don’t believe it.
Where a private woodland pool runs out over grass and leaves no one cares.
Rainy Days on the Farm
The science, the absence, the travels, the walls: we have to feed these things, all animals insufficient unto themselves.
I called on you to be in your house in your head, to be in your apartment heart.
You promised me a letter, but then you died.
I am sorry that you died.
Can I lift bricks all day, scrub pots, carry coal, nurse the sick?
To get up is to let the day have me.
To embrace irony is to see more or less clearly.
We think it all rushes and blurs by, but we are the ones going, and we are the ones with a problem.
What everyone says about poetry is that its light is golden, its leaves yellow, and the sound of it a butterfly running to town for milk.
Work on Paper
Red Sea Scarf
Be sharp man and soar. Brain head globes for nothing. The cut language yanks the red sea scarf and shoot it. We don’t clean up the mess because we want to see it be it free it.
Woman it’s time the waiting and ready time. And we’ll slip and fall. Be a worry sandwich on dream bread. Baby Mary Emma dies. Cold is good. It drips down and eats you just to put where you are down. A train trip through the forest of moods left behind.
All of you givens and the light’s out a crime a dime a lemon burger. Everyone in the family hotel interplay it works in clay ground fantastic elastic surround more ground sound. In an open state of oscillation we play multiple parts, dive into the fast current with daylight jumping all over it in first crazy time.
We know you had company. It was a drive by on the byway whatever I say.
We touch a flash of a life of love. 83. First person’s discovered. Silent reading’s discovered. Up to 1,000. Avenue what you call. We build up to this. Just this? Flat town the dead.
Broken Open Flood. Temple Attendance. Done. Sitting on the Fence. A Bird. Drinking Your Way Down.
drabness racer elephant light iron Dutch show folly studio coast dance biscuit cooking northbound morning saddle leap saucer help atrium checker booth plum lightweight
opera daybreak Dakar cancer plain gestation insect whistle cheese police youth infestation communication triple cremation stomp token peanut figure
escape witness triangular bandana crankcase underneath bonding crepes stars figurine attempt poultry forgery freak tank study
eyeball guppy suit stem invention coral instant pile sibling gravity theatre Paris cut snore banquet
luck awake purgatory purchase book injury seacoast terrain aunt eventually climb philanthropy
surgery freeze bag collapse windfall insurgence fire anticipate girl inevitable square eclipse warning double
caution sidewalk vest nurse towel wagon tundra blood pace devil plus baseball pulse Olympic remainder moustache practice meeting injection pattern
athletic winsome sandy waiting hallway wetland wingnut grief animal gift
telephone holiday historic
Lesle Lewis’ collections include Small Boat (winner of the 2002 Iowa Poetry Prize), Landscapes I & II (Alice James Books, 2006), lie down too (Alice James Books, 2011), and A Boot’s a Boot (Cleveland State University Poetry Center, 2014). Her chapbook, It’s Rothko in Winter or Belgium was published by Factory Hollow Press in 2012. She has had poems appear in American Letters and Commentary, Northern New England Review, Hotel Amerika, Mississippi Review, The Cincinnati Review, Green Mountains Review, Barrow Street Mudfish, LIT, Pool, jubilat, notnostrums, and Sentence. She lives in New Hampshire and is a Professor of Creative Writing at Landmark College.