Cutting Class

a three-legged dog is happier than

the woman who walks him.

the creaking, panting, anxious bicycle

has yet to be broken in

from a long winter.

whatever sunlight this is, is so defined by

these things upon which it rubs,

gently its liquid body.

Blossoms

an army of white blossoms advances, retreats, advances,

retreats

on a black wet road. they weave around the wheels

of industrious, cheerful cars. (did you know Polish troops

fought German tanks on horseback?) pink blossoms, blood.

wind's foghorn desists, and blossoms cluster in piles, sheltering

one another from nightfalling rain. a giantess' hand descends

upon the blossoms, tossing them into the air, into the light of

a streetlamp, into battle again. she dances a little, but then

the giant says "i am apprehensive about everything."

the giantess replies "are you apprehensive about me?"

silence while blossoms advance, retreat, advance,

retreat.