Raked into Evening

the spacing the days take, i'd take pictures and post some semblance how

the pacing the day stake, to set wood into the chest
back in slats, the way of holding a treasure: one heart gold, the next leaden, the fourth a mirror of questions

it is raining or about to rain.
the green shutters eye their closed window.
in another hour the churches will shake off mounds of pigeon.

in the museum the art work strikes
after dinner

a comatose crowd of foreigners sets about boarding a bus--lines of luggage hunched on the sidewalk
I am hopeful

minus signs and waving

After the 4th

do not count your young animals
as the start of monstering

the plate like faces sneer
on screen. it is hot here

and sleep come down premium
or siphoned off the cloudbanks

please lose your hands after
your curses, children

of the incessant complaint
there is no hearing foreign ear

or skinfold rimmed with salt
to hide inside, only the pigeonclap

and walking, the tourist trap
and bathroom stall poetry:

suck socal's cook
we're all americani

good job jeter
bosox best twin

cities for the issue
of a tissue.

I'll sweat in peaces, pacing these
streets and think of ancient

cadences--or at least old photographs
and how wrong it was to ever be young.