Stop and Ask for Directions

i will forgot the name Alison
it’s a problem when adapting
her visit to the bar was apparent
lost connection that is second sight
veteran nose bends toward books
in a new reaction to illumination
to a family who will never read this
with a sense of twelve turned backs
our occupations in the old country
that have no electronic calendars
is the unsettled arrival of winter
one month returns to empty houses
we are so accustomed to old pains
these are things we fail to notice

Something I’ll Start Tomorrow

time to hear of last year’s saw
if my teeth took whitening product
from the mouths of passengers
that barter for health food saturdays
in nests of unintentional fathers
eyes stitched to our manuscripts
we are japanese bound revelators
that depend on afternoon coffee
butterflies of our favorite immigrants
it is diana durbin with arm on head
that pressures us into another drink
& toast while we make eye contact
it is green and amber everywhere
remarkable in a city without zoos