Start from scratch
pull the doodles
and their marginal dancing
into alphabetish glyphs,
make a mouth for every journey,
Every day I drive along one side
of the two roads
whose triangle mouths parenthesize Jet City's murkiest river.
The margins stretch through each compass point
in name and distance.
That was where I saw
(what was left of)
I've wanted to write about those dead geese all week
their bodies sit still and oval
necks hanging lack
across the yawning diamond lanes
but the cars got in the way,
headlights too loud
for 4AM birds rounded down.