The Maynard
Spring 2015

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Word on the Street

skylit
yellow crowns
edge leaves pretty

the slow moment
from green
to gold

the world's honk
beep and gas it
past shush

the timekeeper
an emotional clock
in love with unwinding

the girls have their friends
and the boys have their friends
and there is no telling

who is who or who cares
who swims
in whose gene pool

when they hold
each other
it's an unlock

inside cabala
it's Buddhists
under the stairs

if you put their
envelopes unsealed
into a pile

you only fool
yourself with a piano
you never play

is being
tired
in the late blaze

of September
getting sexy
with the sky

coming on
to clouds
like a stroke

skid marks
all over
the verse

it never was
the unknown
unknown

it was always
the damn
cold

of disbelief
burning itself
out like the sun

it was seeing
whim
come

grey
break
cumulous

bloody
and streaked
cotton balls

ice packs
shifting
veins of blue

the wind bent
to litter
the world

not just
the calendar
again

like that proud bunny
going on about a cell
with a lifetime guarantee

more simple than tired
edges
wearing away

the defiant
branch
snapped

wile floating
among rocks
in the great white frothy churn

rake and sweater time
heat in the heart
warming cold feet

soups stews mittens and toques
at the window
foraging