WEBVTT

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I'm going to read a couple
of new poems or not.

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Linda mentioned Muriel Rukeyser
and this is called "Crepuscule

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with Muriel," which
came from myself,

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so Thelonious Monk
comes in there, too.

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I preface it with Nellie.

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"Instead of a cup
of tea, instead of

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a milk silk well for the cup of
a cup of nearly 6:00 tea time,

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cup of a stumbling block,
cup of an afternoon

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unredeemed by talk, cup
of a cup brown loaf,

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of a slice, a lack of butter.

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Blueberry jam
that's almost black.

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Instead of tannin seeping
into the cracks of a pot,

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the void of an hour
seeps out, infects

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the slip of a cut
I haven't the wit

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to fix with a surgeon's needle
threaded with fine-gauge silk

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as a key would thread
the cylinder of a lock.

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But no key threads the
cylinder of the lock.

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Late afternoon, like
transitory, licks the place

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of the absent cup
with its rough tongue,

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flits itself out beneath
the wheels revolving spoke.

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Taut thought's gone, with
a blink of attention slack,

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a vision of death and
distance in the mix.

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She lost her words.

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And how did she get them back
when the corridor of the day

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was a lurching deck?

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The dream life logic
encodes in nervous tics,

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she translated to a
syntax which connects

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intense and unfashionable
politics with morning

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coffee, Hudson sunsets,
sex; then the short-circuit

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of the final stroke, the end
for which all lines looped out,

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then broke.

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What a gaze out the window
interjects on the southeast

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corner, a black
lab balks, tugged

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as the light clicks
green toward a late day

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walk by a plump Brown
girl in a purple anorak.

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The Bronx-bound local
comes rumbling up

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the tracks out of the tunnel
over West Harlem blocks,

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whose windows gleam on the
animal warmth of bricks

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rouged by the fluvial
light of six o'clock."

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