Dan Thomas-Glass – Three Poems

Dan Thomas-Glass

Three Poems

The vast-

The vast- ness of light to look through staring at im- agined chants bro- ken for bell-tolls our sup- ple de- sires or other- wise & the ways we each charmed for the lives of us on grey mornings without noons to end them if sound could float spaces as a trace of lovelorn or ech- o for the ways we played at per- son nei- ther doc- tor this was not any house as the minds lapsed like glowy grit chomp- ing at setting sun ug- ly all- iter- ation your life setting type just mazes of drow- sy par- agraphs to in- dent bells ringing again someone calls from anoth- er room upset not to find to- pic sen- tences. 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 rewritten (Thumbs down to the librarian’s blind tango?)              Dear friend France is fantastic              Dear friend I’m sick of France