a backdrop of Japanese maples turning
color of rusted wheelbarrow bottom
where the dahlia tubers were thrown
You must go live in the city now
over the subway though not on
its grating
must endure the foreign music
of the block party
finger in useless anger
the dangling cords of the window blind
when all the pills run out the pain
grows more general
flies find the many eyes
quarrels thicken then
weaken
tiny mandibles of rumor open and close
blame has a name that will not be spoken
you grasp or share a clot of food
according to your nature
or your strength
love’s ferocity snarls
from under the drenched blanket’s hood
casual salutations first
little rivulets of thought
then wanting stronger stuff
sucks at the marrow of selves
the nurse’s long knowledge of wounds
the rabbi’s scroll of ethics
the young worker’s defiance
only the solipsist seems intact
in her prewar building
the surgeon is transferred
to the V.A. hospital where poverty
is the administrator
of necessity and her
orders don’t necessarily
get obeyed
because
the government
is paying
and the
used-to-be
warriors
are patients
Faces in the mesh: defiance or disdain
remember Paul Nizan?
“I love this woman and I want to live
in accordance with my love”
but you were beginning the revolution
maybe so, maybe not
look at her now
pale lips papery flesh
at your creased belly wrinkled sac
look at the scars
reality’s autographs
along your ribs across her haunches
look at the collarbone’s reverberant line
how in a body can defiance
still embrace its likeness
Not to get up and go back to the drafting table
where failure crouches accusing
like the math test you bluffed and flunked
so early on
not to drag into the window’s
cruel and truthful light your blunder
not to start over
but to turn your back, saying
all anyway is compromise
impotence and collusion
from here on I will be no part of it
is one way could you afford it
Tonight someone will sleep in a stripped apartment
the last domestic traces, cup and towel
awaiting final disposal
—has ironed his shirt for travel
left an envelope for the cleaning woman
on the counter under the iron
internationalist turning toward home
three continents to cross documents declarations
searches queues
and home no simple matter
of hearth or harbor
bleeding from internal wounds
he diagnosed physician
without frontiers
2002