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Max Winter
Perish the Thought
I had thought that the ship was not sinking. That in fact we were moving toward land. The spray
was saying Today you tire of me, but tomorrow you will miss me while your look said Beyond. I played dominoes in the hold with whoever was left from last year. I won, hand to board. I knew my bones. No one challenged me. The chase of stillness in the restless gray had begun to seem like running in place. When the old man said a bird was speaking, everyone thought better of it. We let him alone. But then the bird cries came again, louder and almost bodied, even from the dark. We put down our isolations and rose together. Someone had tied the dawn to the top of the ladder, to see it grow for himself. We were flushed in its shelter, even as it deceived us
Rip Tide
I call up my lineage. I wake its sprinkler.
It says it knows what, and where.
I tightened the ropes, I remember,
and then I tossed the treasure overboard.
I am in search of a town made of silver.
Under my thumb is a map.
The place is marked with an x.
My magnifying glass is broken.
I must have cried out twenty times.
No one hears me in the columbarium
except Ranger Rick and Road Runner,
holding hands.
Amidst these tucker bags,
I don't know where to raise my tent.
As the fog settles,
I must think.
Will I give pleasure
or will I be a thief?
My book has fallen open
to an extremely embarassing page.
How would you have done it,
little grasshopper?
A Time of General Turmoil
Things hit me all the time
I don't know what they are
They keep my shape in constant flux
Or as you said when you rose from the lake
The place of song was beside my foot
I touched it once and it wriggled away
Here we are in the open air it is not so bad
Despite the words that came from under the beards
Gathered at the end of the year
Which you doubtless heard—it shows
In the color of your face white man
And in the rhythm of your shaking hands
I am more gathered and collected than I seem
I complete the sentences I do not say
The ones I say I entitle
They are beautiful in their imperfection
They will last
An hour is as good as a wave of symbols
Organic or not the legacy continues
We grow fathers under our eyelids
The legislation is soaked in ice
Leave it in the sink and the world will change
As if all never happened you appear singing
But on tape the melody is a series of taps
I am a mouth harp left in the rain
The bombardment ceases only when the head bows
As if in mourning
about Max Winter
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