It is the hour of news and
I want to collage like rachel
maddow to meddle with
Just-pictures/ Just-images so faithlessly
that war becomes meaningless and
I can smear child-stick-glue across
your checks to press clippings of
Vanity and Glamour and Time magazine.
En de Parfum and you laugh with full breath—!
Oh to collage at the printer-parts eating away
in the whirls, their senseless
All is so equally ignored
so easily bored.
—He’s Alive! with the curse of onlookers
with stony black eyes
and they fall away like paper scraps.
In your honor,
from your poem titled “rooms”: I
—and I add three lines: and get an immense urge/ to jump and/
mingle with the sky.