tho there is no tree
& no garden. Keats died
from flying coach;
the bird pops
from branch to branch
to annoy
Fanny in her mourning;
I write my ode to the mockingbird
who can sound
like a car alarm or
"Music for Airports," singing
all night long because
the diamond ring was only
a bluff. The left-side engine
is blown out by a thousand
metaphors for poetry
& the captain must land
the rig while reciting lines
from "The Road Less
Travelled." Spring
means pollen & it has made
all the difference : I'm
not crying, you're crying.
My eyes just look like this
when the winds
change & they bulldoze
our sacred grove
to build another 7-11.
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