Ballistic

Let us get this 
under control there’s no room for 
error no breath to speak measure and
label every object
stacked beige metal cabinet, buckets of 
gravel vigilance 
is an art
like vacancy and being heard all 
sound, substantive barriers 
confronting last resorts
with nothing in the hallway
nothing on the floor
nothing on the shelves
nothing in the sink
no one in the room
empty closet
empty mind
only a desk 
to pound
and a placemat, ready for lunch.

Power of Art: Director’s Lunch

To make a salad
first eliminate wilted greens.
Between finger and thumb lift
each to the light. Observe
indiscrepancies, undesirable textures, suspicious marks.
Give it a sniff — Is it fresh?
Only the best make the plate.

If eyes to see are requisite and
contra agile ladder climbers
place these lights with dire direction, call
a job complete: uneven, thick, and muddy color 
rubbed and freckled mounds marred with ancient paste.
Willful, insubordinate, corrosive dust.
Who dies in a state of grace?
Boot up the HVAC!
Our countertops shall be as spotless as spotlights are dramatic
on skim finished gallery walls.

As an alternative
microwave a can of beans.
Not in the can — metal will damage the machine.
You must spill your beans into a shallow bowl.
Lunch is a time to draw the blinds,
to rest and refuel. 

Setu

Seductive chair
Comfort is a process
A delicately lighted spine 
Chino granite slate or gunmetal
Alloyed caster
Smooth sailing from here on out
One pliable curve, a supporting arch
Textile that breathes
Is all one needs
To roll and spin right off a ledge
Evaporate with the Hudson into clouds over Jersey
While iPhones, cigarettes, and cups of Rioja
Rain down like a plague.