No Stalgia For

See it like this

the morning where the evening

and its tendencies unravel

are relived.

If in this morning--shame

glots the chest--as if no one ever drank--evidence, evidence—

if in this morning there should also be weather

then it’s already over. You’re finished, you morning

if the wind blows

  orange

across the mad rational hulk of your buildings

the non-human context of your beach silence,

coming from nowhere to nowhere

—see, like this

and if not? Still missing Them

things about them times with

their families

-- ah god--

everything gets tossed, it’s the commerce of just

the lowest prices