Empty cup

that is how I think of the organ

turned over like a mound of dirt,

sleeping and awake, earthly exhale,

between two ham legs.

​

You would have thought

there would have been a lesson,

a mandatory course, the steps to work it out:

​

we give tests for driving, circles sliding

into streets on edges with sharp corners.

Keep those eyes moving

crosswalks, jay walkers, signs and lamps,

with heated color swatches

interspersed with cool

for going

​

but in this terrain,

this murky bush,

this hot house of sweat

with pheromone bomb,

we walk along

huddled and frightened,

amused and alarmed,

learning by feel,

electrified but dumb,

deaf, and blind

in the dark.