“From the Glass Hill Down”


that summer, she said, each man received his award
that day
saints restored to nirvana
that hour
our bum bags were empty
though dust poured out of them
& that was fair payment:
the promised


we scattered it
cross the death board, & the chariot speed
convinced me dust is heavier than iron
or chains of love – both
never let me down

w/ each kiss
she assumed
stars are of gold,
though to me they’re steel ship filings
dropped from ports
of oceanic cavernousity

hung on
somewhere ‘twin law & intrigue
your blue eyes don’t catch –
there’s power
& a green screen
high definition

they’re all I see in your soul
spreading the plague of fame
washing sidewalks w/ subconscious mops
art dressed as
breakfasts served
in a glasshouse

Copyright © 2014 by A.J. Kaufmann. All rights reserved.