but the door is open, and the bodies fall
the interrupted colors of approach
are a frightening apparatus in the hallway’s corner
the latticework of cracks on the 1 train window
now crashing, now twittering, a sudden blast
of yellow leaves, the siren engines clang
people of the earth, the dazed gratified walking
is a cool law, don’t even think
of opening this door, beginning
as a muted reddish truck passes
from trying to bring together
is aging in a dream
to the separated parts
previous to and beyond
the slowly moving brightness clouds
in Union Square this afternoon
are a gradual rush of feeling
inside of which a fire
of singularity and destitute
perseverance still bends, and gets up
to walk away
the stars are arbitrary
from the fountain lion’s crane against the sky fits together
taking off your clothes
to slip by offering the thing
you could not remember to neglect
to pass through to work
receiving though materials are no physical eyes
dissolves again
an unusual mistake
careful darkness
past war and years
but maybe I should be more like Phil Whalen
the alarm transmission
is the earth spinning
the singing of birds is a factor,
some drawbacks of advantage
the voice skipping like a wall
that the window is steam pouring out of the street tonight
sounds like the rhythm of lava
since you don’t smash down,
the miles will see
materials, who offer some recall
when they study you, you study them, that’s a fact
but for a front suspended
is today in the mirror