Poetry
From Here Laughter Sounds Like Crying
When time becomes
we become
when day becomes
we begin to break
Take it, all of it,
in consecutive units
What of the plough
the mental field
the bedrock pediment
in time and in
the ancient street
so feeling of Lincoln
I’m nobody
for a change
I take the form
of everyone waiting
No day no bird
taking off
The wood pigeon is no bird
a sound pouring
into itself
We call this
broken and boarded
It is not a dream
not gated
Inside the groundlessness
comes to rest
a largess of ought
Melville has bled
into the local runoff
So much
so much more translation
in the yard
as if insisting
against falling
I want my house
to burn
and build from
nowhere
just there
Let us be
appendages to evolution
mysteries
in the face of violence
even with the shades
Contributor
Peter GizziPETER GIZZI’s books include Some Values of Landscape and Weather, Artificial Heart, and Periplum and Other Poems 1987-1992. A new chapbook, A Panic that Can Still Come Upon Me, is forthcoming this spring from Ugly Duckling Presse.
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