Andrew Spiess

5 Tanka

Watch the air cook
On the bricks of a wall and simmer
In the sunlit spaces outside
For hours
Until it changes into a thick black.

There is a natural grease
Coating my eyes as well as the world,
Helping me easily slip
Into soft sleep,
Plummet into a solid dream.

Gather 200 people
To push the earth so it mills
On its axis with madness
Until everyone has lost
A year of life.

Do not shake machine. Shake hands.
Grazing the walls with my palms,
I tend to leak between cracks and fingers.
How big is the gap between two sets of eyes?
Nothing means everything anymore.

Spend a night coughing
Behind a stranger.
Do not speak or make eye contact.
Do this often with different people
And develop a glaring affection.

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