Joshua Weiner

I hid the deed: —would my life end? The grackle called it back again. The grackle then became my life. A swan’s neck curling to ask what if uncurled to reach into the reed, and struck the stone of what I did. The grackle called it back again. The grackle called it back again.

What makes for a happier life, Josh, comes to this: Gifts freely given, that you never earned; Open affection with your wife and kids; Clear pipes in winter, in summer screens that fit; Few days in court, with little consequence; A quiet mind, a strong body, short hours In the office; close friends who speak the truth; Good food, cooked simply; a memory that’s rich Enough to build the future with; a bed In which to love, read, dream, and re-imagine love; A warm, dry field for laying down in sleep, And sleep to trim the long night coming; Knowledge of who you are, the wish to be None other; freedom to forget the time; To know the soul exceeds where it’s confined Yet does not seek the terms of its release, Like a child’s kite catching at the wind That flies because the hand holds tight the line.

is not a man being swallowed by a fish with eyes like eight-point throwing stars it’s a man being swallowed by a war a man being taken into the mouth of a woman or being swallowed by his work it’s a man traveling far inside a book a man being swallowed up in smoke he swallows the smoke, that blends around him like a thought it’s a man being swallowed by a sound he shapes it so he lives inside a song of a man being swallowed by his kin, his skin a man being swallowed by the State (Leviathan in 1948) It’s a man being swallowed by another man literally, eaten as a pathway to god it’s a man being swallowed by a sight he cannot reach, cannot touch, cannot trace it’s a man who won’t recognize his face who can’t fit the parts, or find the place it’s a man in triumph over death who laughs and beats the dust from his clothes a man tasting dust inside the laugh it’s a man who listens to the clock a man with nothing to exchange a rude man, his twin he leaves behind it’s a man who wants to be a bride a man being swallowed by his fault with something old to show and new to hide it’s a man who tries to haul the rope a man who stooping can’t provide a man who can’t forget his name it’s a man who doesn’t know his worth it’s a man being swallowed by his wrath his youth, yield, luck, the law, his fear, the fog, his fame it’s a man being swallowed by a coat his father’s coat, he smells of the fit a man being swallowed by his vows it’s a man softly squeezing for the vein he never finds it, he’s minding the road it’s a man being swallowed by a room in which he finds a man being swallowed by a fish it’s a man who thinks what’s in a man who exits into night at closing time the figure of a man being swallowed by a fish.