Poem 27

syncopated

the door handle is warm
as footfalls stamp
the paneled room

tonight is left to chance
as lips part from another's
and cajolement from others

the night is silent
beneath the resounding
sway

and I've only begun
to stammer


you said we grunt and sweat
beneath a weary life

with a pretentious smile

we're all reduced
to simplicity
and so much clamor

with frailty
and the warmth of skin

palls of satin

as you leaned and furled
over
mouth agape


unsure
of the vicissitude
of this

morning--


the songs and
clever reconstitution--


in the morning

I can only sleep;
and swallow
the light of a new day


("your mom can
only sleep and swallow")