for Tinker Greene
“And sudden day unbuttoned her blouse”
-- John Ashbery
Small pleasures of life infiltrate, exercising charm in all
the wrong places.
Goat bells surround the skull as house lights flicker.
The Wealth of Nations is not of this world.
Miss Perfect enters beyond recognition, shadows of past
lives in both hands.
Shaggy-dog tales of Late Capitalism teeter madly on the
waters of predictability.
The sticking point sticks in the strike zone.
Is language mostly synonymous with restriction?
Never say “swivel” – speak “laminate.”
Tulips and slavery, two inner limits of Empire.
And a broom that is mostly stubble.
Without further ado -- but increased existence –
a tub or busload of refreshing memories is on the rise,
accompanying the song that won’t be mangled by
either club or choir.
Breathe now or leave the instant behind.
That song is you.
If Only I Had Known When I Made My Debut