M a x w e l l R a b b —

from So This Brute Fabric Unravels

i reach in pulling out a sharp

glass–     i pause

looking over to colossal greeneries.

tenors     moving–

with care, i choreograph smells of noxious saltwater

into tripping footwork for a bad dancer

fibrous falls            asleep–

clinging to old crowds

peeled, no more fingers

an antique bird feeder, snapped

finches dive in double helix

to catch flakes of food–

and this gestural needle

burning replicas shifting the highway easily

my protected thimble

dream cut palms climbing

extruded old spores,                         complexes

speaking delicately,

far quieter mornings–

strained glass by ochrocentrum spindles

a parade of prayers

and eyes closed,

glued clumsily together

toxins of common daffodils.

i spend countless days moving cities–

acutely distant

block monotony

from the open street; a gale malachite

the cold room is sharp

i am thinking severely of north carolina

intersections, good particles move plump right into

electric curses–

a unfettered larynx

hotel burnt to fustian crisps,

an old haunt will always whisper;

the tines entangled

i listen for battered swings of anhingas

from the day, move in.

the furniture crafts minor impressions:

i roam from field to field,

until the sunset, i will relax here

by the next field,

conveniences meld into this brute fabric.

the molten day needs to be cleaner.

it is a blueprint for the acrylic pigs.

Tuesday, we all eat from the trough–

sharp light is the retrospect, giving current

visions to an old version of my house.

i am moving the dining set.

every floorplan is stored in a bank

ask saints to see;

nuclear motions nearby

Pittsburgh; good talking!

but every hovering angel

is a scarecrow to the strangers.

at the fence

open      gilded steel gates,

to slide through.

minted farms       comfortable.

and a greenish sun

thrown with my heavy head

an arc, curtly swinging

copper salts boil my skin

so an old mixture is strewn into the air

a cryptic language of threads

and so this brute fabric unravels

and sunburns spill into the dining room—

.