Slither is one of those words

By David Appelbaum

you mix slime with
whither

 

but the little garter snake
would have nothing of that

 

being accord and grace
draped
expertly
over the tarmac crack

 

seeming like it

 

a neutral thing
slung like a jay
flattened by its weight

 

a stop-action shot

 

where you see motion
at its purest

 

as the mind recoils
into a future imaginary

 

a pick-up in a scene
when stills cease

to exceed any origin

 

and become the rod
Moses held in his hand

 

before God made it
a random thing

 

slithering
snake-like
serpentine

 

Hummingbird to the window

I’m all used up

 

hearing me say I’m done

 

meaning dry finished history

flown in from South America

distance and time
vibrate with true feeling

my own thoughts
and fingerprints
their glorious stuff

 

we look
(if bird eyes are frontal)
and nod words across
the thin glass pane

 

—can we come down
from the clouds now?

—yes, but only for a short
visit

 

A line

libation cups
papier mache
on a strip of
corrugated cardboard

 

twelve gods
prepare to drink
to the dog
in hell

 

song alone calms

song alone says
mercy

 

dolor and bliss
reunited
sisters of one womb

 

his bark is powder
the halls bring
a steady reign of it

 

his food grows
between the two

 

he eats nothing
thinning thinking

 

a hollow below
his neck

the same as the dog
in heaven

who eats anything

bland toasts
no butter

 

 

David Appelbaum has worked in the university and in publishing, and is an author who specializes in the work of writing. His most recent books include notes on water: an aqueous phenomenology