thomas glassDan Thomas-Glass
Three PoemsThe vast-
Rude bits cubed
abrupt prescience: tomorrow precisely the same.
prescience: same precisely the abrupt tomorrow.
tomorrow abrupt prescience: same the precisely.
precisely the: tomorrow same prescience abrupt.
the same tomorrow: abrupt precisely prescience.
same tomorrow precisely abrupt prescience: the.Postcards to J. Clover
or town in fit of starting
in a house (not rubble) slung with accidents
leaking song of brick-sat guitar slums
always with the same first chord
‘have I told you about how
I will stop breathing?’
In the coming year
each of your apologies will be beautiful
The banister (though
there are no stairs) to be papered
in postcards of limpid pink stuccos
from which dead friends & new lovers
will send wishes for their here-ness
I am in Chicago
at the month of helmeted lions
(trains are only bombed in movies or London or Madrid)
You probably don’t spend your Saturdays
reading poems with so much to un-box
the walls are to sky as cling-wrap
or next to a poster advertising a former employer
Your move-ins were never metonyms
for all you dug through dust
to ground pasts
(Thumbs down to the librarian’s blind tango?)
Dear friend France is fantastic
Dear friend I’m sick of France
return to SHAMPOO 28
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