Not that Phoenix
the planetary sense
there is no difference between
emitting and reflecting light
sort of like a cover song played within
or without the boundaries
of an up and coming neighborhood
that I have no future or past claim to,
other than my own tunnel
backward heather-crowded urge
to assign lucidity to an earlier version
of myself, and now we're in the company
of big rigs blown over by the wind
while on the news they repeat
race has nothing to do with this campaign.
patron saint of radio silence
altars in subterranean train systems
that never fruited. Believing that magic is something
you invented, like wrapping things in maps.
Not so much shelter-bent as newly hatched, the notion
we protect by sorting through the local flyers.
a pilot sing-song taking longer to recover
the car in cold wet needles, plus the high probability
of a satellite crash. Helpfully we're reminded the earth
is seventy-five percent water so there is not much
to worry about unless you're in water
and I rarely am. So V's take the nighted place
of tedious cause and questionable effect,
a backyard studio with stacks of books
and being watched, elbowing my way through the jasmine.
The best part about giving voice to a landscape
is picking one that wants you dead.