Tuesday, August 11, 2009


I have been holding my breath
Behind my teeth
Looking for a simple corner
Of undiscovered openness
I may as well
Blow it back into my hand
Get to work
Move on

This street is narrow
Nothing to be found in potholes
Save the dried saliva of wolves
Or blood
Either one of little use to me
Being anything but
A magician
An aerialist
Or anchorman

I crack my neck
And stumble ahead.