☀ Today's Poem: Two Poems by Bruce Bond and Dan Beachy-Quick

4:

The end of the story is a car abandoned by the Golden Gate
but once in the black pool that drowned the hours alive
there was no end there was a man who brooded over the keys
his baby grand afloat the water a whisper without caller or called
I want to say the wound goes deeper each end has another
let death wait we have another pressing matters ask the cry
that brought us into the world ask the tiny circle inside us all
where none of it matters but still you cry you play your love
ballad to an empty room rings of smoke blow over the sands
of the Presidio black bile runs in a keyboard's hands surprise
remember the bus north of harbor how it stopped in the woods
to let the black bear cross and everyone looked at each other
you me crow bear powerless and still before the eyes of strangers

:4

The poem creates the distance it must cross? Yes, it does.
Makes itself a bridge above the dark hours? Yes.
And you're telling that broken water rises? I am.
And some pleasure whispers on the surface? That's right.
A wound works its way through me, mouth to anus? It's true.
Matter teaches me to sing by singing in the emptiness. Yes it does.
The world is a circle inside us all? So it's been said.
The poem creates a circle around all it loves? Yes.
But leaves me out, smoke in an empty room? That's right.
Black bile turns the soul melancholy? According to the books.
I don't remember reading any books. You've read many.
I remember a black bear standing up by the side of the road. Yes.
And a bridge across which all grew stranger. Yes, stranger. That's this bridge.