Negation of Beautiful Words, by Richard Martin, 1996

Proper Ventilation

A farm interrupted answered
the hat on the phone.
A cadillac with tens and twenties
stuck in creases covered with tarp and guarded.
All night long he breathes funny
and looks for the looker inside of him.
And there are two poems: one with
laundry hung inside the house; the other
with it on the line out back.
He would like to flow.
How many times can this be repeated?
Original friends drop by to smoke.
Sudsy rivulets head for the sewer.
Drop your duds and make suds
his grandmother ordered.
Sugar cookies in the jar with red top
underneath the sink.
The memories and the guy with a stick
in the dirt feel out of focus.
Unmake the thing for christsake.
Static. Noise. Departure.
A blue body (under a white sheet
beside an open window with wind
ruffling the curtains and light)
is all I can remember.

—(Excerpted from Negation of Beautiful Words, Richard Martin. Igneus Press (1996))