Poem for The New Yorker

Wikipedia Poem, No. 997

  gothic piping 
which is world
          embarrassing themselves year over year, bertolt.
     
frequently seemingly 
the 
       night of iron and i can tell you,
       heather,
          in my advice to 
  cross 
      today
  and that
quietly seemingly 
        obviously 
the world is
embarrassing — 
      there were 
     loves missing which is to say watching the world
embarrassing its wisdom.

john 
might 
  of 
      scandalized the breakfast rollicking which is 
the night 
of iron and loudspeaker social 
modernization.

        oh, 
harkening gold — ceiling walls and floor! — 
          the only thing was 
       loving which is 
only theater
in 
  my 
     advice to you had to 
     be there you had to 
cross 
      today
          and 
you, it's 
hopeless,
terrance. 
 
         occasionally the 
       same sonnet 
spins steady gold
  the only 
things gone and gotten.

isn’t it enough to be bloody neon

Contains lines from Heather Christle’s “Beset By A Disk Of Radiating Feathers”

beset beach
feeding on mice and small birds fern owl
northern unreality waterboro of beget doctor
penguin sonnets for stallings only

the owl was a bakers daughter well-known
touched recent comely assassin
about it being easy it’s pretty hard it’s as hard as allen
baltimore house party
by its doleful hoot what does the owl’s egg
children or perhaps you down-
ing goodbye but rather makes the goodbye

horned owl how can i get one a lady
‘s touch suggesting some mal act of consideration
question then you’ve fucked up i take back what i said
from officials and guns — 
the night long-tufted or mottle-tufted
and the bill unleashed a torrent of timely
stuff after that leave directly that’s all
to an individual till transformation by
the owlishness of certain people
so coupled married beach stop smoking
barn own crossing the air over the road