enough electricity

a general view of the courtroom

an altitude of approximately 160 miles

your mother comes like jesus,
saves in just one way
and fills up with injured disbelief
when no one wants the deal.

Oakes (#2)

a few days later,

after everything calmed down,

but before the ebb and flow

of daily currents

softened all the edges,

i pulled a name tag off a mailbox

in the foyer of my apartment building.

"robert oakes."

he spent his days above my ceiling

but i couldn't picture his face

and everything i knew

i learned with my ear flat against the door,

cops talking in the hallway,

or peering through curtains

as his parents limped past.

but ghastly details and family sorrow,

rumors and gossip,

do nothing to explain

how the same hand

that wrote on a mailbox name tag

could turn against itself,

pierce its own flesh,

wring out its own body

like a wet rag.

and how the same child

that wailed in its mother's arms

and greeted the world with wonder

and graduated from high school

and came home to visit

on christmas and thanksgiving and easter

could end up lifeless

on a folding chair in the shower

with a carpet knife

and crimson spreading across the floor,

turning black,

like the gaping jaws of the darkest cave.

the contrast is too great.

and that name tag-

it feels dirty.

i pull a book off the shelf

and throw it inside.

i don't know which one

and i don't want to

but someday i'll flip it open

"robert oakes"

will fall out

and the horror

will make me feel alive.

angled legs of a metal table

reach the ground uneven

like a frozen frame of winter bambi

scrambling across the ice.

and up on top is clean white paper

taped to cover paint,

shining with the morning sun

now trickling through the windows.

the table stands

and shifts its weight,

too stiff to sit or pace,

and counts the minutes ticking by

and watches the door for students.

"when?" he asks, gesticulating,

"when will we get something new?"

his voice echoes through the museum,

"contemporary art is so old!"

cooked rice falls like snowflakes

and dots the kitchen floor

tables smeared with chili

and beans splashed up the wall

dishes stacked in layers,

uneven, brushed with food,

tip and crash into the basins

filled with silky liquid.

then slowly through the haze of action

order starts to whisper

lines and angles

straight and right

planes recall their form

until at once the day is done,

all noise and motion cease,

and everything has found its place

the cage has found the beast.

my brow weighs more than

train cars

her words like

clouds of lead

hunger gone

and lights dimmed down

i cannot keep from sleeping.

wild fox (#2)

the wild fox i try to tame

runs snarling, thinks she's prey.

so i brush her furnace orange hair

and stroke her slender shoulders where

she shakes and shudders,

ears flat back

and waits for punishment.

but none will come-

it never does-

she snarls and turns away.

and in her raging lightning eye

and rolling thunder throat its plain

my wild fox needs me to fight

and i need her to tame.

wild fox

the wild fox

i try to tame

runs snarling,

thinks she's prey

but fears the land

beyond the door

much more than anything.

so i brush her furnace orange hair

and stroke her slender shoulders

she coos and purrs

and barks and cries

and bears her pointed teeth,

but despite the lightning in her eyes

and rumbling in her throat i know

that in her heart i lie alone

and her, alone in mine.

this morning i woke
to the awful contortions
of a cat pumping its gut on the floor.
so i leaped from bed
and scooped her up
and carried her to the linoleum
then i stood there blinking,
waking up,
as the gray brown puddle expanded.

i walked past the gym.
inside, on a blue mat,
stacks of people--
triangle of piled flesh--
rigid and chanting,
counting, calling,
practice encouragement.

days like this call for
movies and card games under
a warm knit blanket.

through walls of page
she speaks subdued,
of excited happiness
then sees me there
and bends in half
in startled embarrassment.

hours before the sun would rise
the man came from his home
and cracked his gun
off to the night
at boys out on his lawn
and just like china
slipped through fingers,
shattered on the floor,
one boys kneecap split and cracked
as steel pushed through his leg.