all that blossoms is blessed
all that withers is wake
all that blossoms is bright
all that withers is wail
all that blossoms is beloved
all that withers is wane
all that blossoms is bold
all that withers is withdraw
all that blossoms is brief
all that withers is witness
all that blossoms is bereaved
all that withers is wise

the actions of atoms in the atelier,
their aims, the axes on which they spin,
fascinators, enabling, maniacal,

how would one paint such designer acrobatics?

equip it with relevance? alacrity? farrago?
see it from a millipede's perspective?

every idea is succulent to the curator.

fill a canvas with funambulism? foofaraw?
stretch the palette without pusillanimity?
without a failure to feel?

remind an observer of an old, unflappable owl?
salvage a dead person's movie theatre?

every idea is a prison sentence.

paint it felicific? vast? reflecting affection?
about as fun as a female orgasm?

every idea is joyous-give me something
Good to care about-

every idea's a crisis.

Hard to treat the poemerica of waiting faces
experiencing unexplainable pain
when in alarms a poetrauma, male, 84, his

crisis' diarrhea all over the stretcher.

The poememoir, male, 28, with sphygmomanometer
and pulse slightly above, chest stressed to Uber Street,

but with both EKG of the daily extraordinary
and x-ray thru the mendacity of fears: negative.

The poetruth: the most menacing scenarios relieved,
and digital influenza inflicting neither machine.

Then why within his sternum strains, cramps
of such malevolent ribbing, of such caged

apprehension? Perhaps last week's
Nassau County court appearance?

A compound fracture, awkward lawsuit,
ghostlike torment, defendant's suicide-
all,
with still-complaining leg bones and legal bills included,
only to land a lowly jury verdict after 12 haunted years?

-Perhaps.
Only other thing'd be his job, but that's not unusual,

nor as unexpected as the "must be anxiety" diagnosis,
un-refillable prescription for Alprazolam included-

They're giving him Xanax now for his zaniness?
Funny how poetry is spread by things called "Issues."

By the statue-centered fountain,
the reappearance of art-student chalk
on the bricks of the park identifies
"THE LADY OF THE DUCK"-

but also says the weather's opening.

Down a few blocks, directly before a
blanketed tatterdemalion sitting against
an office high-rise, a city poemployee
collects quarters from a parking meter.

"Spare some change? Anything?"

what a key precedes
what a door endures
what a lamp commands
what a light bulb gloats
what a closet promises
what a hanger anchors
what a couch doesn't doubt
what a teevee reads
what a refrigerator bitches
what a microwave explains
what a stove resolves
what an oven troubles
what a meal reveals
what the garbage starts
what the dishes admit
what a phone promotes
what a chair declares
what a desk expects
what a bookshelf helps
what a pen attempts
what a computer shoots
what a window knows
what a toilet enjoys
what a sink insists
what a mirror stirs
what a toothbrush moves
what a blanket keeps
what a bed consents
what a routine dreams

Pan Dada Ammonia Yum

what an alarm abandons