Jean Day


Sensible Subjects

             Men are mortal if Paris is in Texas
             Where stuff on boots is steeper than you
             Think along a bulky bank of sheer
                       Sunrise an eponymous drink
                       Customer Delight I think.
             Speak, Miantonomo; don't be so obsessed
                       (Eponymous father of a hill)
             With bumper crops of retro anything
             The grass will grow
                       Without us
                       The ear might clear (or better
                                 yet unfold)
                       In the Magnetic Bug Theater.

Radio Evolves into Noise

           Got up, felt dubious.

           O happiness, death, and its reminder
           What passions speak for both of us out-of-
                               towners always
           Arterial around a central clamp
                     Or staple?
           Much country has been mapped in a vain
                     Thicket in which
                     I unlock the sun to bask
           In the truth of it all
           Sucked from a slight tilt felt for example
                                In Manhattan
                     Canyons obsessed with things but not

           Revision. Later Punjabi lunch.
              Bought a candle and read Great Expectations.

Trial by Experiment

           We lived solely off acorns, true?

           Yet how could our thoughts
                      So dilapidate the tongue? Speech
                      Flutters in loop dusk a dipper
           Always farther upstream
           You who wonder
                               Wandering analgesiacs
                    Your pastry is waiting high
                    To be eaten with just a knife
           And fork from which sweet dust flies
           On a wing and a reservation.
           What's left to say can't float away
                    Out of a paper bag
                                                     It is said
           Visions occur more outside
           The skin than in its little
                    Vessels; take the logical utensil
                    To rescue a nutshell
                                Itself adrift but what if
           The smudge pot in the arras lights
             Just a sandy little pond?


           Obviously we are not the queen of France
           And you are not in heaven
           Jones may be guilty but she isn't bald
           Smith then is innocent and Robinson lied
           These were our true commissions
           Without double or doubt
           Only the names have been changed
           And if the lake drains northward
           Into the Dripsweet campaign?
           Then Jones can sell her car
           To the hill people and be gone
           Without remainder
           All the world loves a loner
           If the pretty little girls
           Prove recalcitrant the port itself
           Will remain under junta control
           Unless a remand comes
           From the Colonial Office
           Then the jig is up
           Hawkshaw surely will have seen us
           Going down to the river away

After Taxes

           The labor of the bee takes us straight to the money.
           And the reason for this liquid?
                     Equally, we face the same odds
                     Melt in the canals
                               Of our mothers' arms.
           The candle remembers the economic
           Quantity in a (European) night
                     When even the curtains burned
           Above Alexei Parschikov
           Lazy blimps broadcast
           Our sweetest sciences awake
           Mistaken everywhere for liberation.
                     At midnight could have killed us
                     Or I could teach them how to flip
           The switch but why? A trace remains
                     Breaking over chains

           How high the error is
                     Pregnant again by who knows
                     Or what beyond the walking dunes
           A paycheck floats unsuppressed
           In a letter on a droplet to a corporal
                                         Going out
                     Among lovable obstacles


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