Poetry by Tim Keane


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.
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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