Nor pause nor perch

Brandon Holmquest

Peach soda,
a box of baby ducks,

Thursday, in other wirds.
Not just ducks, but many bords,
all of them
            even if they do get adopted.

I ca-
I cannot
keep the act from

            then I forget which
            act it is. They all
            seem so
            so wry, so
            gone astray.

Wide whispers
                       fill the hall.
            Shallow footsteps
            recede to the
from two
broken guitars
broken by the
dripping rain.

There's nothing
I feel like collaging, I mean
isn't there
a single picture
without a famous person in it?

            No, there isn't.

I'd like to
            diff er en ti ate
from the kind of logic
   that leads to
     cut roses
       or the British monarchy,

but it isn't easy.

If you need to think of
            negative capability
            as a doctrine
            then you haven't got any.

Which is fine. It's
not a virtue.

A Keats reference,
a handful of
illustrative metaphors,
and all the elm seeds
in the gutter
            spin up
                  a cyclone.

I watch it
and fall

            while I
            talk to you,

and what we
talk about

            is the elm
            seed cyclone
            and how
                        I'm like a
                        of bricks,

                        in front
                        of what will
                        soon be
                        City Hall.

Remember all those
   flooded flower boxes
     and bocce courts
       a few months back?

They're still flooded.
I'm starting to think they'll
always be flooded.

     I like thin books
   because I can carry
more of them
when I move among
   the places I
     habitually sit,
            and I really mean it,
            I think leaves
            are underrated.

                         They sit there
                         all summer,

                                   then go beautiful,

then they're

just like you, but then
Oh, there you are
and then you're back and I
am riding a bus to the
bus you're riding, board the
same train in different cities and
meet in the cafe car or
finally grow feathers
and fly because
when I eat
            bread and salt it
            tastes like your skin
and this is how I
know I'm home,
            wherever that is.

Brandon Holmquest edits the poetry and criticism sections at Asymptote and writes poems and translates things, usually poems.