Someone’s baby don’t love him
no more no no no more
twangs a workman’s radio next door.
I recommend red and plenty of it.
What’s another identity crisis
more or less? Perhaps this night
is genuine and not another
fake-out rhyme for darkness,
not that anything won’t rhyme with darkness.
I worry about a tooth, worry if
this typewriter will ever achieve
escape velocity as long as my feet
hurt. I dread new shoes.
I dread multitudes yet
have zero capacity for solitude
which may put into perspective my
befriending squirrels, strays, starting
political feuds with kindergarteners.
Perspective is for sissies.
If you can’t draw a dodecagon
on the fly, you’ll never catch
a cloud convincing enough
to vanish in or one of those
50-foot sunflowers that ate Van Gogh.
—Dean Young
Dean Young, who holds the William Livingston Chair in Poetry at the University of Texas in Austin, is the author of Strike Anywhere, Skid, Fall Higher, Bender, and many other books.
