Thursday, February 12, 2009

They're Putting a New Door In

Brian Kim Stefans (2004)

Brian's new shoes. She asked me of his whereabouts. They're
putting a new door in.

CCI. They're putting a new door in. Impersonating an officer.

They're putting a new door in. Feliz Navidad. My watch continues
to stop: self-identity.

I break
Margin time,
the steaming metropolis
at 8 am
with dry lips.
I couldn't take my eyes off the ball.

Papers on her head. Like a crown of spring thorns. They're putting
a new door in.

This is only the third poem I've written in 2001. And probably the
last one. The other two went like this:

It hit with the farce of an atom bomb.
If there are no animals on Mars, is there anything that could classify
as "shit."

People are like ciphers. They say this, they say that.
Private life is a social experiment.
The French: an impatience with secular explanations.
Writing. Boiling potatoes.
Everybody's pride is hurt.


Footfalls, bubblebaths.
Hezbollah and hot dogs
Be sure to add these Tones of War
to your arsenal of meters.

1 comment:

dan said...

from The Best American Poetry of 2004