Poetry at Sangam



A LIEN by Tyrone Williams

Bias of correction, foundation angles
toward the proximity of against
as if a house and home, destabilized,
exchanged clothes: a room slides
off the shoulder, a skirt, slammed shut,
jambs traffic. And still the unabated,
if incremental, slips in and out as weather
permits. The company car adds a cart,
clockwise, in reverse, a cartridge cartwheels,
a rearview mirror shatters, shards
left, not the only non-sides left
for the siding too is nothing other than a frame
descending with the framed. Look back
up at night on earth. Call the bloodspots lights,
lights the splatter patterns of coins
dropped on a palm and called change.