Move Scenario

She’s going to write another
poem about how she almost

to Georgia. And she’ll use

at least two more times
before finding relief

for a blistered left
thumb. This burn—an accident.

An embarrassment.
An encounter
with a flat

iron nothing like the wedge
of a building where her former

self began.
Then the move

to Connecticut, then the big one
to Minneapolis—not Athens.

One music town
or another

ahead. A northern girl
in the end—so far.

40 Watt

No pity. No sighs
behind her back. If

she says the word
out loud, it will become

her. No grace
period. She hums

“Female Jesus”
as she walks

the streets alone
at night—that last

Athens, GA, scene
still fresh. No colder

here than there—
and that’s the real pity.

Long Player

Cover the Murmur
railroad trestle in snow, it is still

going to be there. Look up
my sleeves—nothing

hidden but a dusting
of time on my forearm,

a ring of vinyl never played
around my wrist. That I like the old

photographs printed and mounted
over song is a symptom

not the disease, and one
of the best ones I’ve got.