Daniel Flosi
From
still in this place where there is no sun
didn’t know it then we walked
right into her angry mouth
acorns dripped
roll
downhill into another hill
subsumed every thing
we held dear this summer
rattlehum of Subarus
Toyotas in the parking lot
cornerstore dreams liquor
lies still in this place
where there is no sun
never was the stone crouched
you crouch on has memory
is memorial the settlers
that settled these hills subdued
imbue with power
unable to find a simple line
through this hill
O Avalo
you should
know
we didn’t mean to
look
then again the insectuous
death rattle slow drum
of marching toward
kids smoking pot
don’t
hear it
instead look us
straight
in the eyes tell us
to fuckk-off home
y o u s t r o l l
plumb into
the depth of her
angry mouth black
hole subsuming every living
of course the footpath
long eroded
y o u p a s s e d
right in willing
is this a virtue i wonder
the final crickets
continue to scratch
their foreign hymns
then all worms froze
the black maw filament
detonates dark side
of 5 AM divergent narrow path
along this sloping slant
becomes what we would become
if we believed in anything
nonexistent exhausted
exuberance
despite many known mistakes
Paul’s wife measures calmly
two cups fortuitous this before
work soon a gland would be
whittled away by tumor until only
just tumor at the funeral
some will whisper
about the coincidence
of death comparably
Conspiracists
are everywhere after all
wound between tall trees
you whisper something
offer everything
though these seeds
steeped in worry
are no longer dormant
deadslipped like mud
between fingers of pressed hands
guided by conversation
not light fickle
though it was
taken then by the beak
crack of husk breast puffed
still unsatisfied clutches
letters of April to her chest
[here you think oyster
say solvent] this pain is the desire
to be
decent just enough of course
spilled from the doorway
this robbery truth asunder
washed away to the editing
ascribes the (f)lies of
freedom
a certain garden looks weary
as bed unmade consider
yourself
baffled spilling over steering wheel
s t o p p e d s o p p i n g a l o n e
that’s one way to succumb
this time of year we see
black
hawk vultures dead
on the side of the road at intersections
school playgrounds across the street
from the grocery store
what
do they whisper doubtless
it’s about worship even in this
body
process requires congregants visits
to his grave count one. . . two. . .
many mistaken as eagles
his clock of birds every
hour unnamed soldiers on
still he’s been wiped away like
masticated stain he died
this time not alone
we carried him with the kitchen
sink
across turf where
every blade has been walked upon
a hundred thousand times
before
we could’ve w a l k e d
instead we drove what impels us
as long after as the will
. . . . .all this
time
not even a piece of dirt to hold
the turned-to-stone lions watch
keep watching as we pack
everything we can’t sell
October’s howling darkness
up this hill threatens
the house empty now
this year every year
wraith screams could be
toppled head stones
i could’ve taken
b e t t e r c a r e
what remains besides
a severance package
6-dollar check tucked between
your footsteps sloughing down the hall
with empty coffee pot
now
that you’ve discovered
that fish sing to each other
you can tell us how
they sound like the
foghorn
a quarry at midnight
how they shuffle their fins
fins like feet in the sand
tell us how they saw rocks
between jaws gnashing
still those crooners
croon fission
f i s s u r e s
the trochaic arc reaches
a final resting place
everything i build will crumble
my fingers are made of sand
masticated vibrations
acoustic gardens
sticky
with milkweed dogbane
whiskey stains
tell us how they sing
how it sounds
like the snapping neck
moth wings sting
morning grass
tell us how it sounds
like the drying riverbed
walking through joinery’s
mouth shelves full
metal motionless
this settler’s room left
to ferment to forget
the moon is always
diminishing
undone accumulating
the choralwork of dust
mahogany floorboards
diluted taken from hills
tempted by foreign
tongues
salt fish seatbelt strapped
too tight must be what it feels
like to be named
by occupation
like
the helicopter seeds
that spiral
the poet spins
spins all kinds
of beauty
even especially that
which the rest of the world
does not see
they put you here Riverside
Cemetery circa 1891 drugged
into someone else’s economy
propped against the prairie
leaning closer to the river
listen to whispers blow
ash from palm
never mind the appetite
there’s a groove to forge
to plow this flower bed
out of existence i don’t
know how to sit with the living
still i try with you sitting on this
button
hill undressing the sky
with our thoughts our eyes
grass simmers words
loom
like web woven catharsis
her expectations my expectations
have settled a little at this age
at least that’s what she said
with her smile
then a crack slap
screams a wraith stolen
moon
a squirrel corkscrews
across the lawn
just like that it’s over
gone
stopped sudden in sodden tracks
fox looking looks at us asks
her abiding question that that kind
of distance rather proximity
brings asked with her eyes
carries the weight of a .45
peaked over witch hazel
from neighbor’s doorstep
the fox
her question repeating
here beside the lake berries together
beguiled by language
we learn that we only relearn
e v e r y t h i n g
same way snail crossing
moss sponge feels it has been
down this loin before
here the oriole picks clean
fruit flies of summer ( rotten
nectar)
we relearn each other
in the silence of this cold not
quite
turned to evening evening
still in this place where there is no sun
didn’t know it then we walked
right into her angry mouth
acorns dripped
roll
downhill into another hill
subsumed every thing
we held dear this summer
rattlehum of Subarus
Toyotas in the parking lot
cornerstore dreams liquor
lies still in this place
where there is no sun
never was the stone crouched
you crouch on has memory
is memorial the settlers
that settled these hills subdued
imbue with power
unable to find a simple line
through this hill
O Avalo
you should
know
we didn’t mean to
look
then again the insectuous
death rattle slow drum
of marching toward
kids smoking pot
don’t
hear it
instead look us
straight
in the eyes tell us
to fuckk-off home
y o u s t r o l l
plumb into
the depth of her
angry mouth black
hole subsuming every living
of course the footpath
long eroded
y o u p a s s e d
right in willing
is this a virtue i wonder
the final crickets
continue to scratch
their foreign hymns
then all worms froze
the black maw filament
detonates dark side
of 5 AM divergent narrow path
along this sloping slant
becomes what we would become
if we believed in anything
nonexistent exhausted
exuberance
despite many known mistakes
Paul’s wife measures calmly
two cups fortuitous this before
work soon a gland would be
whittled away by tumor until only
just tumor at the funeral
some will whisper
about the coincidence
of death comparably
Conspiracists
are everywhere after all
wound between tall trees
you whisper something
offer everything
though these seeds
steeped in worry
are no longer dormant
deadslipped like mud
between fingers of pressed hands
guided by conversation
not light fickle
though it was
taken then by the beak
crack of husk breast puffed
still unsatisfied clutches
letters of April to her chest
[here you think oyster
say solvent] this pain is the desire
to be
decent just enough of course
spilled from the doorway
this robbery truth asunder
washed away to the editing
ascribes the (f)lies of
freedom
a certain garden looks weary
as bed unmade consider
yourself
baffled spilling over steering wheel
s t o p p e d s o p p i n g a l o n e
that’s one way to succumb
this time of year we see
black
hawk vultures dead
on the side of the road at intersections
school playgrounds across the street
from the grocery store
what
do they whisper doubtless
it’s about worship even in this
body
process requires congregants visits
to his grave count one. . . two. . .
many mistaken as eagles
his clock of birds every
hour unnamed soldiers on
still he’s been wiped away like
masticated stain he died
this time not alone
we carried him with the kitchen
sink
across turf where
every blade has been walked upon
a hundred thousand times
before
we could’ve w a l k e d
instead we drove what impels us
as long after as the will
. . . . .all this
time
not even a piece of dirt to hold
the turned-to-stone lions watch
keep watching as we pack
everything we can’t sell
October’s howling darkness
up this hill threatens
the house empty now
this year every year
wraith screams could be
toppled head stones
i could’ve taken
b e t t e r c a r e
what remains besides
a severance package
6-dollar check tucked between
your footsteps sloughing down the hall
with empty coffee pot
now
that you’ve discovered
that fish sing to each other
you can tell us how
they sound like the
foghorn
a quarry at midnight
how they shuffle their fins
fins like feet in the sand
tell us how they saw rocks
between jaws gnashing
still those crooners
croon fission
f i s s u r e s
the trochaic arc reaches
a final resting place
everything i build will crumble
my fingers are made of sand
masticated vibrations
acoustic gardens
sticky
with milkweed dogbane
whiskey stains
tell us how they sing
how it sounds
like the snapping neck
moth wings sting
morning grass
tell us how it sounds
like the drying riverbed
walking through joinery’s
mouth shelves full
metal motionless
this settler’s room left
to ferment to forget
the moon is always
diminishing
undone accumulating
the choralwork of dust
mahogany floorboards
diluted taken from hills
tempted by foreign
tongues
salt fish seatbelt strapped
too tight must be what it feels
like to be named
by occupation
like
the helicopter seeds
that spiral
the poet spins
spins all kinds
of beauty
even especially that
which the rest of the world
does not see
they put you here Riverside
Cemetery circa 1891 drugged
into someone else’s economy
propped against the prairie
leaning closer to the river
listen to whispers blow
ash from palm
never mind the appetite
there’s a groove to forge
to plow this flower bed
out of existence i don’t
know how to sit with the living
still i try with you sitting on this
button
hill undressing the sky
with our thoughts our eyes
grass simmers words
loom
like web woven catharsis
her expectations my expectations
have settled a little at this age
at least that’s what she said
with her smile
then a crack slap
screams a wraith stolen
moon
a squirrel corkscrews
across the lawn
just like that it’s over
gone
stopped sudden in sodden tracks
fox looking looks at us asks
her abiding question that that kind
of distance rather proximity
brings asked with her eyes
carries the weight of a .45
peaked over witch hazel
from neighbor’s doorstep
the fox
her question repeating
here beside the lake berries together
beguiled by language
we learn that we only relearn
e v e r y t h i n g
same way snail crossing
moss sponge feels it has been
down this loin before
here the oriole picks clean
fruit flies of summer ( rotten
nectar)
we relearn each other
in the silence of this cold not
quite
turned to evening evening