recent jars, in fringe-training—)
brought in the common day—
filled not with wisdom
but with insights & their variants—;
when you send in your request
you have to know what
you are working with …
i said to the dream, take
this ordeal … (what’s good
for the night is never
a belief …—) The room
was the gold of five
days in summer
though the chairs were made of wood
from the forest of grief—
Species Prepare to Exist after Money
Turns out bacteria communicate in color.
They warn each other in teal
or celadon & humans assign
meaning to this, saying they are distressed
or full of longing. The wood rat
makes a nest of H’s; it hoards
the seven tiny silences. Crows in the pine
can count specific faces like writers
who feel their art has been ignored.
My father spent his life thinking
about money though he knew
it causes most of this stupid violence,
& he thought of me as a sensible person;
you have the chemical for sensible, he said.
There was no tragedy between us,
unlike how poor Joyce wrote
that his daughter turned away
from that battered cabman’s face, the world.
i didn’t turn away because i don’t know
where it is, it is all over, & when it seems
pure nothingness has come to pass,
i know another animal prepares itself
nationless, not sensible;
thinking of it helps a little bit—
Extra Hidden Life, among the Days
Sometimes , when i’m
very tired , i think
of extremophiles , chemolithoautotrophs
& others with power for changing
not-life into lives , of those that eat rock
& fire in volcanoes , before the death
of the world but after the death of a human
, of their taste
for ammonia or iron , sulfur & carbon
, somehow
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