WEBVTT

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"Paused at the edge of
the tub, turning away

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wanting to be seen,
morning apartment

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where the light
has lost its yellow

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at the moment of the sign.

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Turns away wants to be seen.

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Just then you turned to look --

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a sweetness with a
hook on either end.

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Surely it is the
century of clouds?

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A long walk across town and
your social realist overcoat

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turned up: citizens yawning
on the passing train.

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The train windows blurring
past like movie frames

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run sideways starring our
exhausted revolutionary

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sweetheart whose head cracks
open to swallow the day.

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We have made the
world flat once again.

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Meetings in the cold warehouse
on the outskirts of the Year

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Zero.

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In the red suburbs
of the Year Zero.

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In the other night on the
other side of permission

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you could have her or
a police car on fire

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if you preferred the second
you wore a black square

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on your jacket or in your hair.

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The machine flower
the machine music

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blotted out all
other sounds still

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you could not get
it loud enough.

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Needs to know looks back.

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Wants to be seen turns away.

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Had meant to write
the century of crowds.

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And beneath it the gear
rooms of the calendar

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where tiny cracks have been
discovered in every hour time

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is starting to trickle staunched
with grease and sweat a shudder

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a sadness at waking.

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Now must begin again
it must be new time.

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In the morning of the sign
lying in bed in cold Utopia

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and alone under
the black square.

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Your ears swelled with flowers
a corpse in your mouth.

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You are free though a freedom
with its ribs showing.