Lori Lubeski

from Inside the envelope


rain upon clouds
upon tender nights
of devotion 
I whisper chaotically
into the blindspot
where another car
is in the lane
the land clean and divided
from the plane window
like threaded glass beads
among the sand

why one does not proceed
into strife but a ringing bell
reminds us of church
of pie of paper plates
the word picnic
the world is on a picnic
and you do not share
the devotion to you
as I yet the meal without food
a private act of 

if to wander is discontinuous
a needle in the pie
various sub-divided plots
like constricting bloodvessels
lean to greater burial