12 Short Poems

Michael Gottlieb


an another, a mine the calm in the treads and the risers, the way the oil seeps between the ties incriminating note wedged between the cushions another hard landing, any remaining shred, in the van of the argument the tawny arena. You know that means trouble roostering up at the sight of his ritual foeman: deaccession deceptively convoluted, repeated like a toile, the high eighties and the nine day the dropped objection, like an abandoned hill-station, the palate of the stream, revealed only now, and there caught between two retiring boulders -- an unadorned evasion laddered with disavowal         next