10.14.2012

Diagnosis

1

Unearned noon:
sunned dishes,

dinner’s
remnants.

Caducity of
memory.

Made much of:
one I once was

who’d never
ever hurt a fly.

Now, I watch
each fly spiral,

swatter readied
in my hand.

2

Each act a fact
tricked into

frictionlessness.
Bland rictus of

faces: overworked,
abstracted.

Evidence
subtracted from

the sum of
a dream

no longer dreamed.
Undreamt-of dia-

gnosis: courage
as wrack-line,

waves washing in, in.
Counting breaths:

each a kind of
tidal ideogram.

Significance:
distance.

3

The Thin Red Line

Opened window.
Stunned wind,

barely moving the
sheer curtain.

Lips very slightly
parted.

On our way
through the house,

lights turned off,
then on again,

then off.
Each room dis-

appearing, re-
appearing, dis-

appearing.
The dying soldier

not rescued, under
heavy enemy fire,

over and over.

4

Unaware of where I’m waiting,
why I’m waiting almost fails.

Words move through without me.
Wind between the knees of every n.

Unaware, its framework skeletal.
Bored blurred, in future-tense.

Displays of power, towering.
Backed into itself, solidity’s a ruse.

Bruised portraiture of power.
Failed portraiture, its waters rising.

5

Alder pollen,
populous,

in keeping
with a breath.

Rejoined,
turned.

Penetrant,
pleased with

what passes
here for glory.

6

I add myself
to a dog’s

footprint.
Encirclement of

things said,
not said.

Your hand
blossoms

into ours.
Each petal

crumpling,
light-swept.

Wes Benson (© 2012)