JERRY #8

Matthew Stark

The few small ties / flutter from a lightest body I

The thought enters the mind, inspects
the floor, and, pacing in a circle, lies
down. If I might lurch. If in lurching

end it. The thought warms its side
before a homespun fire. If by lying
one might apprehend. If apprehension

might profit by standing.
The thought does not know what
it will produce, only what it has.

Lurch to the point of becoming sick.
The wheel of light opens like a bank
vault door. If and when the bank vault.

If and when to mine the capital within.
To find and mine it. The thought sleeps
on the floor, then, waking cold, pulls

in its legs. If and when the bank vault.
If and when the waking cold again.

The few small ties / flutter from a lightest body II

To hinge the door open black door
black grate hinged and it’s loud
through the tunnels a shock that grate
that pothole pried loose the rustling
dirty fingers that single note as it breaks
free. That single note that note in the
minding the note, a small, feathery thing,
the mind breaks free from pretenses
the mind is free from pretenses
the mind pretends that is to say it acts
in a way it did not before the mind loose
in the mind becomes a small, stuttering thing,
arms full of ideas.