berkson

Bill Berkson

Two Poems

With Impunity

Light enters the retina by way of the surge Of heavy morning traffic down Upper Market The province, the region, the sect The zone of last clouds in which is spotted the Final Face Trickle in culverts beyond — “This call ends now” — A bird suffocates before you know it Eurasia of the Abstract, Russian poetry edgy And green like a chambray work shirt Snippets in a mineshaft, so dispersed, hurtful The Cloud of Knowing                                 Peri hupsus, the poetry of hype? “From then on, I knew I could sell people anything,” the artist lately known as Jeff Koons beamed, his juvenilia a success parading baked goods door to door. And for those who can’t or won’t – it hadn’t occurred to them, nor had “anything” ever come their way.

     
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