Poem 499

A touch of existential exhaustion …

( I like the phrase bearing up under time … )

Pas Marche (Not Working)

Everything is stopped
             I hang by the shreds of a day
and watch night hammer the land
into burntness
watch flames rise and shrink
                                                        into the sky

it's not working
                                bearing up under
time
          hour on hour like so many plates balanced
I carry vertically the backbone
of a whale
                       it's not working
                       wearing clothes
                       walking streets
                       shifting bundles
                       selling
                       information
putting my feet on the floor each morning
waking up in the shower as if
by accident