Plaza Normale

As you know,
“Without nothing I’m nothing”.
I get the impression
Of things burned into other things.
That’s what life does
I mean it infests me.
The slope for breakaway carts,
The new hill as a structure.
Can I guess your name?
I am reclaiming hesitation
Because it means I
Anticipate myself.
The act of seeing with
One’s own corneal abrasion,
The blues had a baby
And they called it
Abrasive Tense.
So we go beyond.
To the place where authority vanishes.

 

 

the Marriage Bed

How you know you’ve been in-country too long.
Opposite side of a native spring.
The turning point rustler, the sidesplitter,
Every old farce is new again.
When there was anything,
There was a decamping dusk,
The mark of a thing that hits a wall,
Like us.
In marginalia’s lobe,
The sea brushes aside the land,
Like a bending of the sacrament.
You will rust, like me.
Like me, the falling of leaves,
The tearing of promise.

 

 

Drew Boston is a poet based in Brooklyn, New York City.