One Hundred Ninety-One Words

the way
he stumbles over worse words-
the elements tumbling
unsmoothed rocks
over his eyes-downward
a bit the messy handwriting
he has a trademark-
that is;
forgetting and punctuation. he
screams at grammar

but it is not grammar
at fault

"I think of the scientists as being stunted. sticking their heads into mason jars of lanthanum the way a country woman would shove a hand into preserves, bottled for
the yearly fair-

but they stand in front of blackboards holding professor's chalk-
after all who asked them for the weight of Nothing?
or books about cats? certainly no one any-
body knows. but those

are the people who die falling
from painter's harnesses. who trip under construction sites.

no-one knows them"

perhaps if, elemental, in fields
with blueberries and water-to-the-knee
with stringy flowers that tasted
like paper to the grazing animals-

then a true
paper about
democracy could
be written. some-
thing true

about how music-poetry-politic-
is dryly swampy science-

then just as easily forgotten
because only once is the field
there. and only once
is it found-

like a lover. only that last lover, who