SPELL

after Robert Creeley

And in the evening I will take
a brew and sleep 

will seem like property, rich
estate I can take too 

You take aphorisms – she who
sings tires, she who laughs lasts 

In the dirt cicadas
rouse, dear and I am 

not laughing and so on
And the raucous kids, frisson 

and so on, that rattle about
and cheer, whee and so on 

I will a stoic
say it—America 

*

it has umlauts over it
America it is aching 

from under, hex in its stars
(no one can locate it) 

On the stairwell with laughter
with frisson, we are up 

past the pictures and so on
Where is solemnity when 

you need it, demands one of us
Where is solemnity 

I reiterate—they who sing tire 
they who laugh last, America 

it can go last, us as ones
to get to sleep and then so on