Depot Upper Deck

A spider
plant clings
to her
hair then lets
go. Up wooden

stairs to a higher
viewing ground. Buds
to become
leaves. Then
go off

while she waits
for the right
words to compress
into a pot
for later

use. Wanders
across borders
with dirt
sculpted into
velvet vignettes

with small tails.

Wise Disguise

The way a punk
unravels slowly,
then zap—nothing left
save the recovered voice
of a city transient. Or, a dead

man wrapped in stray
dog’s fur. Or,

poems spilling
red over black.