Someplace Better Than This Place
though a desperate, traitorous
with little lost breaths for the epigram sleeps
in a heading of blossoms
the foxiest stylus
dreams it’s a bludgeon
on that surface the boats I lost
honey. I thought of bureaucracy’s spray
& a beckoning faintness transposed over buildings
enclosing the pamphlet’s invective.
would I write the sea
for a long transposition
of depth, incommensurate blue or more spots
I’m always as drunk yet beside them
A surfeit, contempt
holds the present together
like that & as cherry, those light
meeting air in an empire’s dormer.
In my ear the timbres of razing estrangement
admonish delay like a love-bird.
I can’t say the light
that would break down a system
is real in the sense that I see
& with what on a tiny blight’s stoop can I reach
that spacious & bracingly gone.
To My Neighbors
You dispense with the feathers of greeting,
without which, the lights in the palace stay on.
I don't know which trusts give flower to this composition of hymns,
or which brass bands to ask for lessons in collectivity
I know these traditions were murdered,
& I was deposed by restorative objects
who left me for sleek exposition.
Compelled by a now rabid state
to parrot perennial sea-ice & dogma
averse to fleet claims, to the flight-path of cloud
where the instance of every resemblance assures
a return to those models of power. I have seen little else,
& lessons so small when I have, & that pretty when extant,
deceive. But how make a wreath that resisting all likeness
would open, beloved, on each door
why build us a house under rainbows, when
that would collapse with the daily alarms.
the avenue's not like a song or a travesty, it belongs
only to mobilized quiet, it flowers against them with mildness.
Light & Magic
DANA WARD lives in Cincinnati & edits Cy Press. He is the author of The Imaginary Lives of My Neighbors (Duration E-Book 2003). Recent poems have appeared or are forthcoming in A Very Small Tiger, Aufgabe, Bird Dog, Pom2 & elsewhere.