Exiguity
I never get mad, I get even —
written in glitter on the broad back
of a fat man’s blue jean jacket.
Everything faded
except the dust & grease. Grace being
a monument not to survival, but to
resignation of divinity.
As words are yellow farts in the wind
when rain is out to sea.
The flesh runs — a pink clock
on a red track across the sky
into a black hole, an onus on us.
One who sets out to make a good impression
makes a bad impression. Burroughs’
Negativity Principle dictates
a contrary impulse behind every intention.
Pigeons fight on bluestone sill,
wings pummel adversaries & air.
First they fight — then they fuck.
You could knock me over with a feather.
-Jeffrey Cyphers Wright
Photographs Poetry