Commuter

Sinking downwards, the spirit falls unkempt

through regular staged compromising doors.

I say what I have always said, that you

are no less, maybe more. But my money

wields a choice already made. This new suit

fits me well. I stand straighter. Buy a house.

Give money to the poor. My signature

states which pew I have ascended to. Side-

on I am thin as a coin. Hobbies tailor

my tunnels of air & time. I bring nothing

here but my mind, clearly defined and raw.

Gentle

If we are no more than this, one small fold

of sagging flesh – one breaking bone of mind

to prop us up against the fall – one eye

that puckers blind in noon’s false clarity –

How can one more day reveal us, give space

to what totters insensible inside?

Yes strive, & fall, & strive again – decline

each small disdain of life, & cry against

the turning sun, though glib fools say it comes

often enough, & enough for us all.