No Return

 I like divorce.
 I love to compose
letters of resignation; now and then
I send one in and leave in a lemon-
hued Huff or a Snit with four on the floor.

Do you like the scent of a hollyhock?
To each his own.
 I love a burning bridge.


I like to watch the small boat go over
the falls -- it swirls in a circle
like a dog coiling for sleep, and its frail bow
pokes blindly out over the falls' lip
a little and a little more and then
too much, and then the boat's nose dives and butt

flips up so that the boat points doomily
down and the screams of the soon-to-be-dead
last longer by echo than the screamers do.

Let's go to the videotape, the news-
caster intones, and the control room does,
and the boat explodes again and again.

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