Lost Wallet by Devin Johnston
Obstinate substance
survives the river,
survives the astringent
tannery, kitsch,
dead smelt,
and silver-fish.
Surviving pleasure,
its suck
leaves us thinner
and each bank
counselled as to
its flow —
concretized to move
more swiftly, elsewhere
distressed to slow.
Posts of pale
duck-egg
drift past
as money stirs
the tacky tar
where once unfurled
a Bourbon flag.
We have brought
everything to market.
Cat
Balthus & Mitsou
When light has come
I stalk the flies, or steel —
among the folds of down —
caloric heat.
Quite delicate
and full of doubts, I scent a change
from what was here — a foreign tinge.
What reason could
I give / what would I give
to reason? The smoothest manners hide
some furtive love:
I know — and have
thus arched my back of static fur
against a boot from out-of-doors.
|
|
|
