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