Once more into the breach of an unavoidably American argument
Fifty-two shot, eight dead
in three days in Chicago, one white
gun icon on the map on TV
for each corpse, making me wonder,
have you seen the new addition
to the museum? Glass
skinned & not far from the lake,
it was designed by an Italian & sunshine
is encouraged to touch
the paintings, since a two hundred
watt Rauschenberg
isn’t the same as looking at life
with the help of a star. In three days,
not a single masterpiece
was shot, thank God,
but there’s nothing by Watteau
I wouldn’t plug to get even
with the pastoral
or the future, for that matter. You know
what they say about real estate
& safety: location location location
is where you are, I am
where money’s still the root
of not having to hide
in the tub from stray bullets,
which is itself
an art. Poor
stray bullets, won’t someone
call them home?
Though most bullets
do exactly as they’re told, go
from A to B in a straight, usually late
line, after the gun
has had a few too many
defenders of the right
to barely arm innocent
flesh against the incursions
of industry, really,
since sales of bang
are up & mostly
the brown are down. 
All my love poems are to her and everything and stupid
The big day
The missing
Once more into the breach of an unavoidably American argument
Practice makes imaginary backhands perfect