Decor, Trade, and Distance

sifting through the dispatches
I remember why I quiet
why I distance

why I pick through
a bowl for the perfect

no warped or dappled skin

no worn out clingstone--

to wait for light to begin
its chromatic collapse

to sing time to its gone

beneath the immaculate

to wake up in the middle of a [            ]

call it time falling through a glass---

stuck in the dream
we get bad wisdom---

tell me about this life

say we’ll look through the wilderness
we’ll look for morning

we’ll look for who I say I want to be

the favored projection

the icon bought with wind

to dissolve to ephemeral

the random standard bits

head held flat
to be filled
specimen of specie

to cling to
the wandering

say we’ll get there by morning


Robert Balun is an adjunct at The City College of New York, where he teaches creative writing and composition.  His poems have recently appeared in Poor Claudia, Apogee, Cosmonauts Avenue, and others.