robmclellan

Rob McLennan

from generations

as a division of memory, it feels
the feet pulse.

this, & one, & one more, puckered
up to more.

petal conjunction,
is my gift some.

the third line goes like this,
& this & this & this.

a dream im trappt in school,
& just cant get.

modeled after passive consumption,
taking in a nonverbal utterance.

for example, grasses & dollars,
& that this is accessible somehow.



*

the first line doesnt need to be the longest,
but it is.

if he put down the book, hed understand
what she was saying.

with all these interruptions
from the portia phone,

i cant. songs
in a swollen throat.

wednesday glistens off the tongue,
& dirty laundry on the shore.

ottawas little doors have pause,
& pause. the scent

of something different but then not.



*

a debt sans colour, or every one,
mixed in promethean green,

& prussian blue. an avalanche a footnote,
a puckering up from sleep. the bed

diminishes.

he mixes his commonplace words,
like "duck" or "spoon" & relays

all he needs, through
gritted stare.

a door slams somewhere. the bolt
is broken clear.

the day of first snows. it rains
the flakes down bare to stone.


*

unfolding a sequence
out of paper swans. made out

of ash. an anguish of speech,
how many memories preceed

as wired. the vitamins are not.
the brick in right hand.

intolerable cruelty. $10.00 off
your next visit.

some restrictions apply.



*

you are not the run
but the initial rhyme.

a man without someone
lives in a foreign country.

what would you, though. the part
is wrought with collision.

theres a reason the radio shifts,
a purpose to the tongue.

those who did walk, & those
who never would. two legs

grind off a cliff. talk abt
everything & nothing.