I am a tomorrowman.
Days runs up and down the veins in my feet, calves, thighs,
I’m never out of time.
I say enough
When I have too much. Look at me, for instance,
Tomorrow—the day of the hurricane—
How I’ll lay piled on the bed,
Where I alone may say what’s garbage. Pleasure. Pity. Verse.
I’ll be in and out of my head, my mouth, where people’s faces
Will roam in herds.
I’ll seek fit words.
The circuit of the rain
Will be clean,
Will be a terrible fix, will be
Turning the wind.
Will be what I left in the yard.
Will be less present in that I’ll be
Writing it down.
What I’ll have, I’ll bury. Borrow. Build. And loan.
I’ll be available, in and out of my mouth
I’ll be speaking to them. I’ll be
And I’ll be angry.
I’ll want credit for what it is to be.
I’ll stand on top of the staircase and ask everyone to see me, while
The storm rages.
I saw myself.
I was what my nature wrote. I was a copy.
Electric, and full of fever. A transformer blown. Popped. Banged.
When I met myself
I preferred myself.
When cold spots rung my fingers, I was thinking of my future.
Out of cash.
A body on
The floor, afraid of the great silence opening outside the door.
When that day comes, if I have nothing to say, I can still
Speak what I feel.
When that day comes,
I’ll feel as much as they say one should.
My particles will buzz like a green screen.
I’ll have tracers. In fact,
I have them now. In fact,
I’ve sung the future into me.
I hold a limb in another time, and when
I listen through it,
I hear the calendar hymn.
It is tomorrow.
I listen. I hear. I see tomorrow’s stars and planets,
There is a silence between us,
I am able to stand it, as I am able to speak while,
Tomorrow’s air goes thin.
I breathe my breath with my head in my hair.
All is well.
I walk around the edge of my land, framing sentences in
But in the end I am candid.
I am known for my candor. Follow me,
Though you will not hear me, I finish what I mean
True. It is nonsense.
Tomorrow has stolen it away.
Tomorrow’s thought which wouldn’t stay.
A rabbit in the yard whenever I stepped outside.
All this beauty back into beauty flows.
It will stoke
The iridescence of the ocean. It will
Toss stars around the surface of the sky.
Speak in tomorrow’s lines.
In tomorrow’s time.
I have my thoughts, even if I have no sense of them.
I speak in voices,
Try to sing. Listen,
Tomorrow’s marble’s mixed in red and white.
Tomorrow’ll dazzle. It won’t delight.
I live in a place that’s not my own. The clouds hover
My almost home.
All night, phone calls stop and start. I’m known
For having an eye for a heart.
A mimic in the mirror,
Hear me do my
Hometown boy from a hometown place.
When I look at you, I look
Tomorrow right in the face. I’m tomorrow gone. Tomorrow
I may not drive around town in a big black truck, but
Blow through this red light. Tell me
I don’t do it right.
I do it to myself.
In those crucial productive daytime hours, my hold
On the argument
I am building, the way I planned to build it—it
Gets away from me for how I feel about things,
That’s what I make here now, while I lay
Twisty and talky
In my room. I pull my feelings out my fingers.
The hairs on my arms. Out
These boxes, these boxes get
Bent, get loose, and the day I’ll take care of it is
Always tomorrow, is
Always as rosy as it is weary, is
Always darting ahead on smooth pillows, sweetest
Bed. It’s the recovery.
Maybe there’s a half-life to these
Things, and I don’t flower quite as bright in the doorway
With a blue-button up, but I like to
I don’t care
How much. It’s tomorrow I keep involved with.
I’m a busy fellow. While the deserts widen,
I let my lawn yellow.
Have we met yet? I’m here from tomorrow.
I’m here for tomorrow.
I’m a busy fellow.
I keep up with things.
I check your progress,
As you turn over your cheddar and bean burrito.
I like you.
I like that you can tell the difference between when
The microwave door is
And closed, when a bite
Enters your mouth
And when it’s just a touch cold.
You chew it up either way.
I do that too.
Nice about things being not so great.
I like that we don’t relate.
That we’ve never gotten along.
That I could be talking aloud
I’m waiting in the train station,
How else it could’ve gone.
How if I was going to travel by car,
Been with you. We would’ve
In the manner in which I read aloud
As I type,
The manner in which one may pass
Into a black forest
Wetted by blue, to
Find a house in the sun’s clearing has changed a little,
And to enter it then, distracted, as a man in thought.
As a tomorrowman, I have tomorrow
My tomorrow limbs in my tomorrow clothes,
The tomorrow words I know.
The tomorrow mind I set forth
Is restorative, is
Enhanced. Is faulty.
Is a restless ache beclouding my stormy face
As days roll in their thunderheads.
As I feast, and am fed.
Apples on the table. Apples
In a basket on my porch, left by whom?
Does it matter,
When the hurricane will collect them, will hold
Ring them round the neighborhood?
Everyone will get one.
Tomorrow. They are tomorrow’s apples,
And they are sweet.
I’ll tell you what I’ve done. Tomorrow,
I’ve been through it.
I can’t stand it.
I can’t say it again. And yet, tomorrow, I’ll say it,
Out of instinct, on rotation,
Happy or unhappy or gone back over or back out of what
I don’t know—I
Don’t spell it out in my head.
A page of paper shredded by the rain or
Decayed in a steady
Pacing in speech, and here I am never weary of my melody,
In the hallway, speaking
To myself. It was
The sort of tomorrow when the mailman puts
A stack of magazines
Right into my hand.
my tomorrow porch, where I pace back and forth.
I want to get better at this. From my green chair,
I divide, man and tomorrow.
I rise and smile and hope to be
A blue jay dies in my yard. I go in my shed, return with
My shovel, when all
The blood goes to my head. Oh! The jay in the bush.
Tomorrow is in flower. Each day is
Hotter in the afternoon.
I wake up. A bird sounds outside. It is, needless to say,
Tomorrow has arrived.
A morning like most. I haven’t slept enough.
I walk down the blue stairwell
With the lights still off. I don’t feel
Checking on the cat.
How I thought it would be? I don’t know if I’ve kept
Track of what I thought
How do you know if you’re hopeful for a future
That’s already here?
I feel so
Present I could disappear. In a second now,
I’ll walk out
The door, off the porch. I’ll call tomorrow’s name.
A strange same.
A tomorrow ordinary and not, as I walk down to
Between mind and sky,
And this tomorrow meet.