was made to wade into the night like a swimmer
thought she could not swim

~

Those Nazis, they knew
what to do with a soft

we were just powder puffs
living ones

falling, falling, dandelion fluff

there went my family
there went yours

epic of soft prolonged
in a long fall

an adagio of soft

(meanwhile waltzing
meanwhile chocolate

bread, a lullaby

for their cherished Kinder

a goodnight story
a goodnight kiss)

~

She dreamed a train underwater
a door in the sea, an end—

even in a clean kitchen, even in a smart dress,
with friends and teachers, a brother

on the soccer team, the bright star
she shared with all Germans, the sun,

she wasn’t in a good position,
not that night, not any night—

and when, how, when, would she
get to New York, St. Louis, Detroit?

(the swiftest bike to bike
a frantic Frankfurt, her wits,

the manifold papers
certified stamped correct)

~

Not me not mine not now
she thought

and bore away her family
with a winter wind
a vivid mind
with my mother
stitched inside her
snug and soundly now
carried off
through the oceanic
effluvium soft across the sea
she sewed a wedding dress
and it too was soft silk soft

~

Will we ever run out of days?
A new country, refuge,

a nuptial bed—
advance past the past

now, imperishable
despite history fragility fear

she went for it
and birthed a soft target

her mini-soft
dropped one spring

and she too was soft
too soft

the new body
plumping with blood

~

And now we know from Soft.

Pulse, you know it,
and History knows.

Over and over it sics
itself upon the soft.

Eat Drink Breathe

and Kiss your favorite face—

Do what you want
and now.

Soon laid deep beneath
the flimsy weeds we’ll be

and how—

The last day
is the purest theft.

America wants it soft

America wants it soft

~

This is my plangent note to the ambassadors of love.

(All dreaming now is retroactive.)

The radioactive someday is here.

Our kings are cranks, crooks, incongruous,

they are improper, ill equipped,

how is it we pushed the handle down and they popped out?

Toasted!

And now they sit at the head of our table,

can we be excused?

Scurrilous scumbags, X-rays of greed, they move themselves

up the flagpole, razing the trees.

~

To be female on coronation night was a difficulty.

Her skin under his thumb was a sickhouse was too much.

Our king no you aren’t. Our king? Not at all.

Our king on paper our king in the spotlight

our king in the outflowing tide—

our king on my daughter?

His weight dropt in mid-night and stung her little bed.

A creep, a Porphyro, a flesh struggling to be man.

There was no excuse for the smug frog of him.

~

Comrades, commend yourselves

on a job very poorly done.

And now what will be? I’m alarmed.

Keep your passport handy, keep cash,

keep water and batteries, collect your meds

and loved ones, just in case,

and silence your phone.

Stay off the beach, the street, the planet—

There must be some mistake.