I passed a man sending a message
on his cell phone on a motorcycle
I yelled do you want to die or to
kill someone startled he looked
at me and lost his balance and fell
but before his body hit the ground
he melted into a cloud of ground
cloves and severed wings and orange
peels his bike went on without him
its engine humming symphonic Gs
with overtones of dust.
There is a truck bearing milk
there is a stooped man with
a round belly and a sliver of
sackcloth perched on his head
he is wearing two watches one
ticking local time and the other
standing still on Jerusalem time
there is a beautiful woman whose
eyes are crossed and whose hair
is covered in leaves and bubbles.
Maybe he wasn’t sending a message
I think my tongue is raw from citrus
juice and regret the fingers on my hands
swell until I can no longer grasp my pen
and I am forced to dictate my poems to
passersby and passerbies might I maybe
rest my weary words on the slope of your
shoulders or in a puddle squiggling by your
aching palms alas no one speaks English here
not the man with the stovepipe hat or the child
with her lunchbox full of knives perhaps one of
the refugees but none will look in my eyes which
are green and purple and puffing air in and out
like sphygmomanometers.
Why has no one noticed that there are air
starved birds in this very bus and people
holding guns and the floor is covered in
chips of gold that rattle we need to stop
I yell to the driver but his ears are covered
in moss and he sits frozen something is nibbling
at his bare feet this is the sound of a green and
purple waterfall I realize now that the man was
holding a glass of water the end.