LA | NY A Special Edition of The East Village

Martha Ronk

from Why/why not

           drink to me only
Ok it's over she.
No might be time.
In the midst of a cup she says will you only.
Some desires are momentary at best.
Ok it's her turn.
When you cross over the line.
A lip on a cup. A cup's lip. Hers.
Hanging on for dear life or going for broke.
Her concern for the birds
her obvious concern 
her birds.
It's much too sweet she says
I couldn't drink it for the life of me.


A move across country.
Wanting what.
What sort of reciprocity.
Two palms lit from below and a frissle of green.
Is this what's left behind 
is this what can't be moved
is the atrium California after all.
White behind the cypress
so obligation hardly sets in
I don't owe you a thing.


The object is now greener.
Transplanted from one plot to another.
In one she plays an addict and in the other
a sort of woe-be-gone.
Her arms across her chest.
The willow in the wind.
I'd be winded also.
Just an object two or three inches across
and imagine that it drives you crazy it drives me crazy
what matter if it happens to someone else.

Preternaturally calm
is what objects.
I want the green one through the window
in the back of the shop.
Of course I want to come.
why is it the word for.
Why not she goes or is going or is wont to.
Some are naturally green.
You were extraordinary he said
and left to go where he was going.


Come clean confesses her heart to me
pretends to be limp with rage.
The spy sees it untrue and reports it to you
who wants to obsess, click it over and regress.
Songstress like seamstress like strolling along a stream
the aqua of our youth.
The tape rewinds into sinks and rails and beds
warbles their high pitched
and I too I too falsetto.


She's gotten too too.
And where would it get us to ask why.
The ramp of the incline.
Inclining towards uppitiness.
full of herself wouldn't be so bad
sans infinitum and that fol de rol of whine.
Thyself they say with restraint
having spent a lifetime.

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