JOHNMICHAEL SIMON POETRY

Chained and muzzled

dogs leap short barks into the air

against the restraining planet

make much noisy protest like

a string of Chinese crackers

jumping around, Roman candles,

or kites on string careening

falling exhausted on trees

 

At last when evening arrives

a dark wind blows from heaven

shooting stars breathe showers

down hills, up ravines

the planet sleeps and breathes,

sleeps and breathes, an iron lung;

they sleep chained to their kennels

 

At dawn when Sol breaks in

to feed them, they recommence their dance

barking and leaping against their chains

 

Above, the space station revolves,

six thousand years of history have

produced this kite, an untidy mess of girders

spittle against the stars