forget that hour of meanness

The opening poem from D.A. Powell‘s Chronic. Those of you in the Bay Area should definitely come hear him read tomorrow night (February 7th) at Stanford. You will not regret it.


no picnic

plain cloth cast upon the cool banks, the mere warbling frogs

an interrupted repast, uninterrupted pile of leavings

the parallax of bodies which are and are not ours

uncomfortable shift, uncomfortable shuffle

so many of the best days seem minor forms of nearness

that easily fall among the dropseed:  a rind, a left-behind

I watched the bluejays provoke each other, eager to scrap


if I could make the world my own and be satisfied

I’d say that you did not see them, nor hear their anxious fuss

but you were watching.    I, in fact, was not


forget that hour of meanness.    we should not have been

perched on the vestige of evening, treading that same gunny cloth