Patrick Williams     

 

At Sundown

 

A sweeter city dweller never suffered
                                       so implausibly
poolside.

A Dracula sees beach umbrellas
                                       as space music,
                                       as arctic noise.
He doesn’t mind the rain.

He’s years older          than the first
                                       responders,
                                       than everyone
hanging around,
                                       everyone alive.

 

In Cold Video

 

To the skull that crows out
                         sure they know
                         where the cameras are

in a French accent:

When we crabwalked those alleyways
in full-on cardigan-mode,
the children took nothing from us
                         but luck
                         looking in the cameras
                         the whole summer.

There’s people and there’s dust. The sirens stare for sure.
                         We watch the other mirrors
                         pool letters for our boredom, that

blackened system of slipping
weeks out of widowspeak.

I destroy poems in an office suite.
                         Strike that,
                         a tomb.

Eventually it’s winter, the city never wakes.


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Patrick Williams is a poet and academic librarian living in Central New York. His recent work appears in publications including Prelude, Hot Tub Astronaut, NO INFINITE, and Heavy Feather Review. He is the editor of Really System, a journal of poetry and extensible poetics. Find him at patrickwilliamsintext.com and on Twitter @activitystory.