INNER NO PARKING
for Lee Holloway
The moment is as it seems except
for those in it — look at the empty
space and then the hydrant that
keeps it tantalizing in perpetuity
The bruised thumbnail creeps out
from the smash it single moment in
the door of James Spader’s Mercedes
to the unknowable future like a loft
where others will live someday
but who and when nobody knows
I say it with flowers and mirrors —
contingencies that make the room
without being the room itself
Same old me with new hair or
teacher in the room where one
waits for me to take place
Once the truth of the moment
is discovered the moment is past
We know how last summer
turned out and also that
knowing means summer’s over
What little innocence we have
predicated on failure to notice
our own corruption The
redemptive inability that rests
in the dirtiness of our hands
Once yoga is perceived as
money laundering it ceases to
be either fraud or Bikram
White carpets or spankings
we are not allowed without
a long gaze that the sidelong
glance knocks to the ground
The neither here nor there
that was always all around
The medium relies on unrealizable
refreshments to order the moment
The moment orders rusty nails
with extra tetanus in case
it gets joined by another
You’ll know me by the empty
booth I’ve left Betrayal begins
by definition with a vow and exists
as the precursor for otherwise
unattainable truth Into necessity
I nailed my thumb and saw
for once that I existed over time
The you know unknown
I’d been trying not to embody
was right there about to
emerge from the sun that
allowed it to live but only invisibly
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