Without Yellow, Without Orange

the sun don’t make changes
less than the sum of its parts
can carry like a tune in a paper bag
that is the name your love gives you
& is always in the form of a question
that starts today with promises free and clear
of reasons to get you to Pittsburgh
or Lyndhurst or Saint Louis in time
to tell the souls that cross your transom
that is the sentiment of back page bios
it is a calendar of incisions
you read to divide demands that rip
like miro paintings on your pastime