Dina and Dan Might Make It Rain Roughly

And I did not get along with myself.

Then hi.

The train was talking about my mother.

He chewed the gum and the road the train

It all fell in on her

And she died.

He thought of the occasion of his occasion

How close in spirit they were, as increasing distresses

Sundered them. They lived in a partial age.

How everyone is always talking about themselves.

The hamstrung teens. Hamstrung by their parents

Now I fly inside myself.

He was alone when I was a father

He says this thing when I was a boy

The way things talk about themselves, they're talking about everything that's not themselves.

For I am not ready to go, says the mother

Big as the world it heaves itself into, her death goes to advance the
What has done better than any of us, in this world

Strung drunk along the street in lights

This sense of being alive

I take the wing of a car and tuck into my mouth

A bit of light. Lights now on in the apartment

Across from his. Some girl

A promise of deep and important conversation

Readying her bed. What book is it she copies?

The words I live by exist. And that’s enough

There are a thousand children

We are a thousand children.

There is business, after the war, and then the war

Grows up into middle age, there is a PhD program

And now, up, the war is finally understandable

In terms of its distance to those who

With a stone in your head, you encounter in the harshness of their injuries.

I lack the weariness of enough injuries. Today I read

And did not understand what I continued to do to myself

Of this gesture toward the misery of a scrap pile

Piling up

Boxes wrapped in plastic which contained the notes she'd left me

You are such a dreamboat

I will love you forever amid all earthly things it is my intention to transcend earthly beauty

To read not for any sense but for the sheer joy of going forward into your own divorce

Of going forward, and into this idea we have projected mountains

Of great preparation, to meet ourselves and have people who care

They built the house you are going to with their hands

It is humbler than the one you are used to

Go there now, meet him at the dock

Where ships of no import enter

Take him into the living room where she waits in her final gown

Note the tension and the jewels

The stench of liquor

Ask him if he'd like anything to drink

He declines he refuses

He refuses to go home with you

Before you even ask

It is the summer

It’s what I want to own now in the middle of the night

Around a maypole. And my peace goes to pieces

When I hear the drunken laugh of a confident girl

Rush then down onto the street

You tired people

Go sharing your head full of dust

Go dust covered boy drunkard try to snag

Some to call you handsome. There are so few.

Your sister is sleeping with a nigger.

The money is tight. Oh to be sad and lonely

Just enough get up to move

What a horrible thing to say.

They looked like priests with their books

From the desks you could tell they were reading

They opened the window to spy

On the girls in the courtyard. To be sad

And high and not one of the slimmer ones

With the pleasures of boyfriends who know

To brace themselves against the sturdy phrase

I do not consider. I have not considered.

What a horrible thing to say.

You think of the way it began

Men in the country

They who you would reach for when it was getting dark

With a name and all the referents to which that single named branched out to

And the lighthouse with whom you shared yourself with

Reminded you of Andromeda

The way you gave yourself up

Your mother who gave you even money

No it's not to be eulogized

That no one won the pennant this year

The elegy you wrote for the last five years of struggling to recount

The time prior to the moment of this speaking

Ministers staying up into the night with you

Hold me, talk of improvements to this abode

The humble form of my corner

From which I gather a fine dust

Cobwebs, toenail clippings Let there be

The wings of dead flies growing from my back

They were gone until the middle part of the century and came circling back

To get what they'd left behind

Their eggs and nests from my ear

Which began sprouting infinite trees

Katie Jean the authority

Randy Lee the tunnel ahead

It will be in the ditch in five years

The wall is cracked the bells are cracked

The tower is broken it is raving

The night screams

Today your head has conceived of itself as coming full circle

Then it was a blue balloon

Then it was roasting

Someday they will say you'd cracked

You needed fifty years to repair the damage you'd caused to the structure

The form went in the trial of the spirit

It's seventy five hundred for a used Pontiac

It's a damned idea to never drive

The train was talking of her

Rising sharply He bowed as his father entered then stood by the table on which she lay

And began crying

Because he would never see her again

I can handle this

No I can't handle this

And they begin burying her again Only this time

They will want you to get in beside her

It's a good way out of the air These few thoughts

Switch to long loops The bridge is speaking

Of a species of fumes, the curve of time is supple

All curves are supple

The curve in her hands folded over the curve of her chest

This way where you see anything it is through curvature

And that's sad isn't it

To have built recklessly on a sinking coast

But you are too foolish to know what they feel

When they enter the room and you're too old to keep pretending that you know

Admit you have no idea

They don't suffer the ways you think they do

They keep coming an coming and nothing can be undone

He couldn't have been more than a teenager when he decided that it was pointless

To have a family

A house and a home

And he left us

When he came back broke he didn't tell anyone he just sat in the backyard

Counting the flowers that had already come up

Then there was a late frost and most of them died

I'd never seen him so upset

I tried to say something to him

But then I realized I couldn't say anything

And it was too bad that after that it took

He began talking to himself

It's his grief you said He was always leaving us

Then she went away and it became his privilege

His duty to follow her He would follow her

Through the backyard up into the mist

Where she had found her hair

I feel that now

The wing that had broken cast into perfect shape

For flight through, and flight through the irrelevant

Glass the empty glasses the flight through her irrelevant worry

There was nothing more to worry about

It would be taking her

It would be it would be it would be it would