Tag: Michael Teig

by Michael Teig

I go out like a slogan

in the morning. Everyone does.

The cat eats a butterfly.

The sun being prolific.

It’s like a sequel.

The world moves

around in vans and I

man the mixer.

One dog barks then

the spaces between them are barking

and then a hummingbird like

a tiny green zipper opens the air.

It’s a perfect day.

All the old people start mowing.

It’s a nice day for a parade

and here comes one

moving slowly on the horizon

like an addendum.

from There’s a Box in the Garage You Can Beat with a StickFind it in the library

Copyright © BOA Editions, Ltd 2013
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, Inc.
on behalf of BOA Editions LTD.

by Michael Teig

Some men are so lazy

they should be revered as saints.

Not improved. Not working.

No lift or tilt.

Trying to put on one sock

in the morning they are one man.

A centipede of trouble.

He pretends

to be hit with a stick.

He looks at the world

as though it arrived in an airplane.

The new world’s new, quickening sun

taps the stadium whose retractable roof

pulls back till a single crow comes out,

sideways, slurring over the skyline and wires.

It lays out evidence and empty space:

A woman beside you sleeping. A little clerk

hurrying past like all the capitals of Europe.

Drowsy projectionist, the sun

does nothing but ticket the leaves.

Some men are so beautiful that their insides

are lined with the skin of lions,

with the narrow skin of birds.

With no help from me,

the names of ships, with

the teeth of mice, the overdue snow.

from There’s a Box in the Garage You Can Beat with a StickFind it in the library

Copyright © BOA Editions, Ltd 2013
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, Inc.
on behalf of BOA Editions LTD.

by Michael Teig

In a light rain

flowers light the highway

where everyone’s motor

is already running.

The world is baroque:

my apartment is small.

America is monstrous.

The phone rings

in everyone’s pocket,

but I remove my feet.

I’m finished.

For a long time

a rat in the wall,

a dog in a panic,

an abandoned season

by the sink to which

the moon makes

an excessive offer.

Yesterday’s moth broke

down on the sill.

Yesterday’s headlines

flattened like veterans.

One dumpster, four pigeons.

All manner of men.

from There’s a Box in the Garage You Can Beat with a StickFind it in the library

Copyright © BOA Editions, Ltd 2013
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, Inc.
on behalf of BOA Editions LTD.