rinse and the evolution

wind and it’s heavy
the lecture did
not make me think
of place and space
nor how we construct
meaning

the campus path
i decide
“i’ll slip into the poetic,
try to SEE”

but the trees
i can’t tell the species
and it’s an important detail

throats of (?) trees
bird song
as i pass

infinite black branches
overlap, superimpose
creating visual clusters
almost opaque
but as my angle shifts
they come apart
new clusters form

and my anger
over theory
is hypothetical
–i see that now–
contingent upon
my
belief
in theory at all

a little bird
hopped toward me
said something
in undertones

by the time all this
is collected and “felt”
and i get it into the casket
–a vehicle of the suburbs–
it already is eroding
fading out

and i can’t find my self
from which
i stand at the attic windows

and the poem is almost gone

then i have to turn the thing
and wind the other thing

what were the branches…?
the wind… how was it not?

not the night,
but closed eyes.

sex
instead of love.

words
against the light.

not diamonds,
but
cut and starry glass.