[Two]

AT 3:00 AGAIN, WAKING FROM SOME DREAM

There are fragments beating
in the desk drawer: love, the painting,
lighter matches and a story
made of cries of centuries
of being

-only, one can only
mend one capillary
at a time; and hardy
Brother Benedict again grins truly
to me, 'Pax tecum, silly
'brother: here sleep freely.'


. . . / DISCHARGE LINE . . .
[a continuation on the HVAC springboard]

/
Go ahead: sow your lips
to the tune of your broken corners
in the thousand jubilant faces you see,
seeking, expecting some sort of response in mine.
Here you will find
none more
(my face isn't
(baby anymore);
oh, sure,
sodium lamps make their promises to streets
they half intend to keep to themselves,
but such sacrificial salt can burn so far
and nevermore.
Now, from here,
this time, forever
and ever after,

I will be wiser.


-r