10/19/08
Brett Price

In the overheard voice’s quiver

 

a dozen arrows

 

Are you a transistor?

 

I am elements of that

 

bewildered rectifier

 

I            infinite ellipsis      care to

the shareholder

 

 

A large, beautiful room, rich and picturesque

 

the wind asks

and from the trees

a slow yellow downpour

of leaves

vanish and am

           a river

 

receiver of incandescent estuaries

 

“water splits water”

 

tortillas heavenly sent

 

When the rain stops I

see the small stream

quietly weaving light

toward the sewer

 

and in the quick varieties of that gleam

undulate gracefully, my pupils.