WASTE

Place which is no place at all,
Field that is one blown_out shoe,
A tube of lipstick, two sprigs
Of grass_ where nail begets nail,

Tooth chips out tooth. Place which is
No place at all_ where the web
Is cut, the thread is pulled
Along the droop_headed path

That cleaves North then East then South
Again, trailing back into a cold morning
Of long ago, where the yellowed news_
Print of memory blisters as it sails across

The debris of thought, fading toward
The torn pages of tomorrow,
Which some god dropped
As it lept over, into what’s behind