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POEM BEGUN IN AUGUST
for my friends
Afternoon descends through the window
Naked in the middle of overcast November while
You withdraw twenty bucks from an
ATM or retrieve a pair of slacks from the
Cleaners or crack a Russian code
& I am dead serious about this lying in
Bed with a book of poems & a can
Of Coke business. “Whose
Poems
Anyway?” Now you’re talkin’. I am
As fond of them as cagey autumn leaves
& nobody falls back into bed near
Noon to read poetry better whether in summer
Or winter or now that July’s light has
Begun to fade. I am going out
On a limb,
But we all have our talents. And it is
A parade, really, what we do, what we don’t,
Meeting friends for drinks, trading reviews
& remarks, a few kind words, our best
Years behind us or ahead;
The films tell us
That.
A break in clouds allows the room to brighten,
Gerard in Virginia, Matt in Bowie, Mike in D.C. (have
I finally lost track of Mary & Blake?) & while the
World transacts what the world transacts
I work on the administration of the heart,
& what the world gains in data or
Wealth or new medicine I gain in intensity
Of emotion, which I try to capture in poems motes
Of dust twirling in columns of light or hand
What was once & still is yours to those I
Meet transparent my love for you
A large window brimming
Over.
Green
The
glass paperweight fits in the palm of my hand—
emerald transmitter of light—
the sky brightens, the sun strenghtened, winter
bound in chains, the way I would
have him. If I hold the weight to a light,
my hand is green, tall grass waves
in the field, moss thickens round the contours
of my chin. If I hold it just so,
green tea floods April's cup, love's tapestry
sprouts tender shoots.
Tim received his MA in creative writing from Michigan
State University, where he studied with Diane Wakoski.
His work has appeared in Graffiti Rag, The Red Cedar
Review, The Lost And Found Times, The MacGuffin,
canwehaveourballback.com issue 9.0 and
ShampooPoetry.com issue 10. |