When there was no sign of awakened attention, when his blood drained
						to one side,
Who noticed crab spiders dispersing in July air?

Why would the waitress turning chairs onto tables sigh
That at least he had lived like a faucet turned on?

His luck ran out? He didn't have luck. If he decided
He needed cowshit, the cows would become constipated.

When he spoke he would lean forward.  
Capillaries showed in the whites of his eyes.
Since when did it take psychology to see
Shyness and pride lour in his face.

What did he show us we had not already seen?
He cut his coffee with honeysuckle.

The phone rang once and quit. Why
Did the hair rise on his neck?

Does a white cabbage-butterfly
See the dandelion plume
Caught also in the web,
Or only curved hind-legs drawing from the spinnerets?

In a region where God's purpose chooses not to extend itself,
How is momentum introduced, the weight that turns the scale?

Along the road, houses were dark. Was it moonlight against barbed wire
Or catfish heads hung there, ringing like a bell?

Two monks carrying a burnt lectern
On a two-by-four to the brush arbor. No one recognized them?

Do me a favor, the sheriff advised; keep your eyes
Peeled for wetbacks. They handcuffed him,
Didn't they, when he answered, I
Wouldn't piss in your ear if your brain was on fire.

Just who did he expect would believe he could hear
The floral revelry, as he called it, and the stridulations of ants?

And if no one returns, how do we interpret
The belted kingfisher's rattle-laugh?						

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The East Village Poetry Web
Forrest Gander