A Random

The earth said to the fern
that fell against it
green nothingness of air
shaped to a sort of weird hand
what are you doing?
why are you in my bed?
press me
said the fern
I will press against you
let me leave my form
in you
how? asked the earth
this way, said the plant
to the planet
and a million years
flew over the heads
they never had
and here is the fossil
in your hand
the white chalk
so dead
so sexy
they marked each other


The winter school is dark now
The chalkboard has numbers of past eons
Twombly loops of them    an older teacher’s
Appearing to sink deeper within it
Is there a deeper?
Chalk is the bones of ancient scuttling animals
Soft bottom      billions of sea years
Compressed to dream
Touch the soft breast of something that hardened
The whiteness of eyes
Children hold it in their small fingers
These are creatures that formed your eyes
Dabbling in crystals     set into a head
Various refractions
They are incarnation too
The innocence of appetite is baffling
Even these numbers want to separate out forever
It’s as if there were a place to get to
Words are onward
The chairs in its classroom are a pause in gravity
Then they start to float upwards
Children fall asleep with chalk dust on their hands
The numbers, like basilisks, start to come down
Come down off the blackboard
And go seeking prey elsewhere

Motivational Speaker

Sometimes I’ll look at a rock lying on the ground,
I’ll choose a particularly dumb rock,
one not really all that good looking either,
and I’ll point at it like a handsome devil in a boardroom,
I’ll actually use my index finger,
and I’ll say really chipper-like,
in a wholly appreciative tone of voice
that implies we’re a team, that we’re really all
just in this together,
“Good point!”

The rock won’t say anything back,
of course. But usually it will look

contented then. You can just see
that glow of accomplishment.