how sweetly the bloom

Minor headache
America is loping along
one foot in the stirrup

the other shaking off
a wolverine; still,

driving with you is
fine, looking for a
restaurant —

a poem, a she-wolf
or some really good

She tells me they
had to stop feeding
the birds because

of the influx of “Norwegian
Rats,” big as gophers,
then we meditated

and then I pondered
Laurie Anderson’s change
of voice, and how sweetly

this politics blooms into
something familiar; if
only, if only, I hadn’t

rolled with this genre
if only I’d felt it rock
through the cracks,

and spoken more lightly
of myself. If only that.


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