Kevin BayComment

10 * 28 * 2018

Kevin BayComment
10 * 28 * 2018

Inside a tunnel train car and the sound waves of a beggar

stopped between stops what do you think—

the stagnant air an object dead and alive

pushed ahem-ahaw by her quib-quibbling


for you the children are innocent it must be seen—

like the sound of men sweeping and laughing

the place beyond the kitchen wall

and the space there and the space between

where the grout crumbles into greebles—

the simple fact of a gap

as if it could save us all knowing we’re not quite there

not objects stacked one on another—

the Earth balanced on a stack of turtles

floating in milk-froth spray of Hera

and Carl’s object: billions upon billions—

but we see congestion

like coagulated gristle spit off a pink tongue

to 2d Earth.