monologue for Charlotte

there are clouds
Colossus
into tiny
Eastlands and their icers
their pets

a red looped hat
a red loop
a red lou please I stole

Chinese plaster columns, sir
the creek that runs under Providence
what is its name?
the rock
the rocks

phonetically
that run through the subdivision

subdivisions, no as in a newspaper

no, as in a photograph
the sides of a Celtic vision, please excuse

my snagging of these monuments
purely bound by gardens
loved for their soft forms

it is simple: a hill has to be well-manicured
has to be downtrodden
onto one’s hard drive
to make pretty pine cones conical, profitable
forgotten prodigal

anyway
you know what I mean: a father

my father, he would drive on these signs
with lines going every-which-a-way

and we would just visit various offices

under about before within beneath and around

and these were the streets
and these were the signs

kind of an immersion
but you learn rather fast
to tether everything that’s peering at you

and, together, you have a hill
where there was none before