12 Short Poems

Michael Gottlieb


in light of, the day-part his distinctive chop, shriven and disarticulated body english, a kind of disapprobation in the way she pulled back her hair which no one else could have noticed a diffuser, a mock-appeal, a lot to swallow, untroubled by rest, heaving up upon the pins, strengthening apparently, uncoiling the objections, counting for little, this far into the argument, the local deity subsiding, as if the great blow had passed over them a take of recognition as one checks the field the branching reveries, the headwaters         next