October 29—The Dow Closes Down 11118, and: May 15—The Dow Is Closed, and: November 20—The Dow Is Closed, and: Meditation

October 29—The Dow Closes Down 11118

I

to make one thing of me, writes Rilkeor to “work me, Lord” as Janis singslike a field song, mocking-bird variationsfor which I can find no equivalent, and no sooner    have I written this down thanI want to post it on a screen where I can see allmanner of bodies burned, burdened, crushedby the weight of factories, here stitched into this night-gown, look up from this screen, which holds all mannerof soldiers before/during/after their tours of Afghanistan,drones, the actresslike some character in a Greek tragedy who cuts off her breasts,    now flickering before me, cold candle, a fireI cannot feel hums through me particle sure as any unseen canceror cracks in the wall of the garment factory (“work me, Lord”)covered in paint

Ii

why must man always take on thingsmap galaxies, name particleswhile factories burn, ash rises to satellites,the question I carry around like a locketwith a dead child’s hair, the questionof dead children comeswith mine    begins “the worldwhich is economic system does not care”and in the wilderness beyond which is particle attractionand distraction I slip from the grip of garment factory fire, to askover and over:    can you take it allin, galaxy after galaxy, open your eyes sky widethrough love or force or training?

Iii

let’s remember this skyand beneath the factory workers like a thoughtthat dark matter thinks, fluttering candles,let’s place ourselves under the hood of night    you can’t gate this, razor wire, Guantanamo Bay thisthe hospice nurse says restin the space between breaths        place yourself,let there be space, too, in your gaze, let there    be nurse before you check your status update, wash clothes,    pull up the rug,like my status update, my revolutionary status update

May 15—The Dow Is Closed

Sometimes I think there should be no writing here just mycheckbook registry, envelopes of receipts, browsing history,photos uploaded, list of status updates, texts received,

the postcard of a tornado someone stuck in our gate advertisinga roofing company.

Our view gets wider once we fix the gutter and awning.

And Gertrude Stein writes: “After all anybody is as their landand air is. Anybody is as the sky is low or high. Anybody is asthere is wind or no wind there.”

As a child I was forbidden to climb trees. As a child I couldlose whole days, wake up in a hospital bed with a deep, broadache, pills that tasted of mint and paper. As a child I learnedto connect my cursive letters, memorize multiplication tables,divide and carry what was left over.

Zeppelins floated through Stein’s sky,now we carry the Zeppelins.

The tents grow nearer; the cop inside us pulls out his Mace.

November 20—The Dow Is Closed

if you want to catch the sunyou’ll have to drivedown another streetmy ambition’s thinnerI watch my daughter’schest rise sinknurse herworrywe raise childrenwho will die    look upfrom the drivewayon the first nightof standard timesee an owl in flightlater he’ll triggerthe dog next doorlight one yard overit smells likedryer sheetsor is that the sweetof a new season?    yesterdayon the toll roadI read a billboardabout hungry children($1 feeds 6)today Midwinter DayI stick a green paperin the bookso I knowwhat to readwhen you get home keep the porchlight on     try to ward offwhat’s hungry    try to recordwith tendernesslight turn-signalingin the treeswe catch a glimpseof soundcannons in the parkscientists say the universetears itself apartI watch our daughterplay with curtainsbefore the...