i did not see jenny

i saw a man
cleaning out

the pond

brushing
the water

pure

dropping
the everyday
slop

a cigarette butt
a fast-food cup

to find
fish &
turtles

ecosystem eyes

honey suckle
vines

french toast
flowers
enveloping

a tree

drawing from
her water.

W.E.B. Du Bois can you really stack books that high?

aaaa I am afraid of your elevator
with dings metering a breaking
building's heartbeat

its windows popping in pressure
its roots sinking in a
design that did not account

for the weight of words

squeezing bricks
from the tower walls

in an
architecture of tears

When a weatherman speaks

people sometimes listen. At the church

turned concert hall the sign said
no flash photography, no recording devices

but she snuck in a microphone for Jenny anyway,
that distinct possibility of rain

not even an option in her eyes
blue with wisps of cloud grey,

today could be perfect.

juice box, discovery!

a recyclable
cardboard carton,
corners bent
vein lines indents

gold, yellow, sweet

absorbing the spill
a history book
my parents would
have to pay for

after running bases
brick schoolyard bully
stepped on my lunch

pasteurized, concentrated

the catalogue
of knowledge
now an
autumn breeze
from Vermont.

50 Titles (of poems I would not write)

protein pills
other natural flavors
not really a doctor
whale watching in the rain
vintage contemporaries
do not install backwards
handbook of knee surgery
rejected thank you notes
a fruit with no name
eaten straight from the box
dishes done
this bag is not a toy
bound by the conditions
nexus point reentry
a tape, not an apple
the end of aquifers
operating manual for a segue
mr. clean goes to france
i've got pop-tarts
Oh, Auden said everything
sponge identity
antisocial radar
fight night at the Lenig's
a man with a glass eye
the house that was not level
a beach with mosquitos
bedpan technician
closed doors mean secret meetings
talking behind your back
hard, modern edges
new dirt
the importance of flossing
sex, interrupted
a fruit much like a beer can
complimentary copy
there are no self-serve gas stations in New Jersey.
a day at the craft fair
LOWERCASE
income tax evasion
a conversation on speakerphone with grandma
peeling second-degree sunburn
a trail of carbon footprints
on conserving electricity
that's just too bad.
the moon in full sunlight
a can opener for poetry soup
conditioned air
landfill at noon
licking letters
not valid with any other offers