No Fair Is Not Fair

Of course there is a world out there,
World not at all to do with us.
Things fall in the field of our games

Not at all to do with the games—
Rain, snow, hail (we have rules for those),
Odd bits of wind-caught trash, stray birds,

All kinds of small, lost lives, in fact—
It’s not like we don’t know. We know.
But what winds and chance blow in frame

Aren’t and can’t be part of the game,
At most a tale told of a break
In the game, the stray dog that ran

Out on the grass and caught the ball
In its teeth and ran off with it.
Games go on. Games start and games end.

Of course there is a world out there
That breaks in and breaks up our games.
That world can’t be played through a game.

That world is not part of our game.
You can’t frame that world or give it
Rules, not by the rules of the game.

A Ponge Joy in Doors

Yes, the cool,
Smooth knob or
Quick latch that

Fits the hand,
The smooth swoop
In the room—

Best the soft
Firm click shut,
Yes, you’re back.

Stray Dogs, Weeds, and Neeps

Some things you love
And bring with you
Leave you or die
Too fast. Some things

Go wild. Stray dogs,
Weeds, and those crops
You eat that thrive
With you or not,

They, more than steel
Or art or us,
Will be your true
Gifts, fruits, and marks

In the next world,
Which will be this
World when you’re not,
When we’re mute rot.

Black Wines

Night vines grow white
Horned blooms that drip
Sweet ooze to lure
Grey moths whose blood

Culled their rare genes
To keep them safe
From the lure’s death.
Once moths are done,

The vines bear fruit,
Grapes black as night
No beast will eat.
You must pluck us,

Crush us in vats,
Let years age us.
You’ll taste sweet night
When you pour that.