CLOSED THE BIG DOOR

they

wont

let

you

die

in the regular madness
of the chattel lands

where guilt is on tap
like a riot hose
& innocence is vestigial

& theyre proud
of the suicide nets they hung
below the factory windows

to catch & save

the lives they use

to beat down to a dumb nub

ON THE CHESTER DRAWERS

the day is there

bright / clear / classic

like Es are there

ambiguous / vestigial

at the end of words

the sun stencilled shapes

on the chester drawers

are

softly adrift

with

packed lunch sadness

& i shovel on the optimism

like ketchup
on dry mash

working with the bones of it

the doom of it

the habit & faith & light of it

in the predicted ash