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Poetry by Tim Keane

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An Erased Rauschenberg

 
 
compositions exist, not unchanged
 
            valuable,   well,        real
 
 
trash can’t find something as-if
 
 
put I before the long city
 
            realize cuff-demarcations
 
a little nothing, invitingly composed
 
            of age, handkerchief, and officious hopes
 
 
one reality suggests climbing imagery
 
            but we is goat business
 
like the five ego entities
 
            between the photographic floors of mean width
 
 
I ball what Franz suffers about the new
 
            a short void exists behind encouragement
 
and in the dessicated ferry slip
 
            if I were all-involved
 
and working into the term
 
            you’d see the complicated raven
 
or bar dancers
 
            or the core reproduction
 
 
and being unbiased
 
            this building would be felt, natural
 
and the next city might illustrate the crowded grids of tennis
 
            his lot is marked other than off
 
 
overhead rise York-bridges, an illustrated
 
automobile and Kooning musicians that liked letter rags
 
 
always extend the fourth story, invite the gap
 
            there’s an absolutely extended Zen-poster
 
 
and the Bill-maze and someone’s Tworkov universe
 
            consisting of the ladder-flashlight, the sentient windows
 
and syncopated busy wooden horns, substantial closets,
 
            and rectangles of rubbish,   his
 
time,   the unbelievable     everything.
 
 
 
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Tim KeaneTim Keane‘s writing has been in Modern Painters, Aesthetica, Vision, Kamera, Drunken Boat and other magazines. He has won creative writing fellowships from The National Endowment for the Arts and The Bronx Council on the Arts, and he teaches creative writing and literary modernism at BMCC, CUNY. www.timkeane.com.

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