Randall Mann

Days

Because no
transaction
is repugnant,

I look
at the moon.
I look up

this moon,
called a fish moon.
It is perfect

if I don’t arrange for
metaphor. I do,
like an awkward

transition to talk.
My philosophy
hollow

as a list,
or formalist.
I swallow

the word
empathy,
then awe.

(Must be
angling
for sympathy.)

Metallic
as a phallic
age

to go.
Don’t go.
That hiss

in the ear?
Near-
miss;

dissonance.
Indrawn,
like a long con,

a marriage.
The yards,
medicated.

I take a nap:
shoegaze.
Chin up?

Days.
I myself am hell
if I know.

Go on, spoof
me with proof.
The least

I deserve.
This life apart
is clip-art.

---

Randall Mann’s fifth collection of poems, A Better Life, was published by Persea Books in April 2021. He lives in San Francisco.