It’s a brave new world, Bard,
One is which everyone’s afraid
of having face-to-face conversation,
It’s a faint-hearted world, Bard
& we’ve hawked our oyster for rose
gold iPhones. Cold as fish, we are. Dead
as a doornail, we are. At some point
we vanished into the very thin air
we ourselves beset with transmission,
reception and signal strength,
which, by the way Bard, is always
rampantly poor. And we wonder if
anyone can hear us now? So we tilt
our fancy– but far from free phones
towards the heavens, once reserved
for the gods, but now full of fury,
cell towers and radio waves. We’re
desperate, Bard, to conduct wireless
communication. Ah, we are so close!
Yet, so far from coming full circle.
The world’s a classic case of too much
of a good thing, Bard, for goodness’ sake.
if there is only one world, it is this one.
days like this are to myself:
dirt & houses; air & occupants.
the neighbors call them rednecks.
their loud engines, their empty
liquor bottles, their tow-headed babies
& little blonde women loading up
in monster trucks for church.
what am I doing?
watching the world go by, falling & turning into the pointless beauty
kids walk around selling chocolate bars,
i throw a ball back over the fence.
two loose mutts greet me at the drive,
& i think, well isn’t that nice?
& that it’s only right
a shock of rainbow breaks the sky
without ever the slightest chance of rain.
[Italicized words from Larry Levis’ poem Decrescendo]
for Real Toads