The Age of Reasons. Ted Greenwald

      eyes look out

      waves of light

      spin webs in limbs

      a sunny side of the street gives shadows hats

      exclamation

      point

      a yellow sweater folds

      POEM

      at this point in history

      tremulous sweeps can be heard

      by the now-defunct brooms

      that have just this second become necessary

      to the oncoming madness of the self

      the self and its other

      sets up conditions

      a) as I said

      b) as I take

      c) as I get

      music is in the makeup

      at any minute arousing thoughts of flowers,

      or lips that shape notes in conjunction

      (like stars) with the tongue

      the language times use to talk through the petals

      so sweet the head shakes

      the other meantimes, on a particular evening,

      stares rocking in disbelief

      not seeing the we for what it is without clothes

      the he and she

      leaving the door open to memories of nature

      dynamite carried by swans

      A GOOD NIGHT’S

      a good night’s

      sleep does wonders

      for the disposition

      disposes of sleep

      supposes a desire

      to wind up

      and pitch curves

      through a brain

      curling like a

      spring through landscape

      a dream, like

      a plane high

      up complains to

      a chair in

      a hotel lobby

      a convention enters

      town and sweeps

      past the speakers

      in a gown

      the speakers go

      to supper, talk

      awhile, go up

      and go to

      sleep amidst whooping

      shrubs and small

      comprehension-size animals

      protectively colorated so

      they don’t wake

      if a toenail

      like the halfmoon

      hits the Hudson

      of the window

      do

      they

      worry

      no

      but

      the

      brain

      is

      a

      funny

      thing

      WAITING SPOON

      A round room

      The flowers are in bloom

      Sun blossoms the window

      A low sound

      The boom

      Ray gun down

      A found objection

      The friend in a comb

      Kills some in the town

      A bone

      AIR

      tongue no spit tonight out

      whistling between nerves

      the peels urge governing bodies

      without or from within

      counting luckiness

      the old gun back of my head

      tasting of definiteness

      hanging out and hanging around

      seeing and being seen

      going to sleep and waking

      comings and goings

      hello loneliness hello happiness hello

      sweet caress I think I’m going to die

      I LOVE YOU

      I love you

      So much

      I’m beside myself

      That’s the other me

      Beside me

      Passing into dust

      Against the side

      Of the beautiful girl

      Coming to decide

      I’m a beautiful woman

      And maybe

      I like myself I don’t

      Like myself

      Besides us

      Passing into dust

      Against the side

      Of the we

      We’re separated into

      Something breezelike

      Without guarantees

      But whatever you are

      That I feel home

      And no getting away

      From it or with anything

      Without you

      Everything’s everything

      And me

      (I can’t really

      Speak for you)

      Nothing in particular

      No place, neither

      SOMEBODY WANTS YOU

      mental institutions that make it take it

      easy

      dressers with drawers with goals

      in mind

      custody built (nor those a) a shanty

      behavior wrong by objective test

      a desire to learn geography

      a desire to plunge anywhere

      particularly the personal worlds of congestion

      in the ward together

      for drama for conversational

      play