Good Work
A Poem by O.G. Rose
A penny for yourGod? More than enough
for a good shepherd.
A thought to nail down
what you mean when you speak
of an idiot hung up
for me. Check/Mark. Words cross
out. Would
tapping on letters—“p-i-n-e,” “c-y-p-r-e-s-s”—
spill out side-ways
notes? Black marks on a rolling stone-scroll-screen…
from east to west, a white hole to a still-still-equilibrium, will sing
not—cry—for us,
in earth-trembles and circled by drifting dead
in memory, tearing/veiled. But: “The red marks
only haven’t”—
you don’t say? Hammer.
Pine.
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Yes.