from Clangings
       

Dear eyes, my ears kept paired for you,
no stereo's here. No peelings heeded.
You look unhealthy like that: scalloped.
With all the duophrenia you listen to,

it was boded we'd run into each other.
Look. Talk's short. I'll always worry
when I don't hear the sled of a casualty
in the fog, or the otherness in another

sounds like there's nobody there
on the bus. Hard to hear like myself
in that atmosphere, bag of mouth,
table talk between salt and pepper.

But look at them. Grandparent-solid.
Turrets you could use as chess-pieces.
Makes you go retro for a family tree's
entreaty. If a seed I know is behelded,

it puts us in pretty heady causality.
No need to answer; really, no need.
What would I do if you did? I did
keep in mind my brother, didn't he?

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Copyright © 2012 Steven Cramer All rights reserved
from Sugar House Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission