Untitled (Four Minutes)

The way you yawn like a hostage
in a movie, eyes gored, candles tapered,
a destiny of predestination sprawled before,
a playful companion, the single ember
in the fireplace, exhaling for you.

Undone and unleashed,
church bells, apple girls,
king salmon fishermen,
angels from graveyards
and forgotten cartoons
jackbooting in double-time,
history's chorus line,
legs stomping like chattering teeth.

Impoverished actors,
Vienese mailmen,
carniceria counterboys.
These, too, are with us.
Plantation weeds, pushing like policemen
through antediluvian fence slats:
The World exists
whether we want it to or not.

--June 30, 2001
2:25 p.m.