A N N E X   P R E S S      2 0 1 5

T O M   M A N D E L        C U B I C A L     B I R D - C A L L


Ready, flee, aim!
Under no obligation
with every

encounter joy
the sensual thing
sorrow a faction

on the brink of
Spring: when life’s
simple & the child

still mail arrives
before yesterday
in a new cigar

box. Her boyfriend’s
letter advises
her to ‘keep this

causing wonder
first,’
are those alive
dead right? Next

to her tablet
where a minute in
captivity’s ajar?

His foolish rage
dead of jealousy
the boss of spirit

fired the boss of
law in whose nest joy
dreamed my desire.

There’s nothing in
the still now but March
mud, while even

unrequited
sometimes entropy
times will get

lost, playing in
memory. The lit
match tenders

best this cunning
moment, fleet shifting
cruelly about

the winner then
Winter. It’s rare game
comes a-running

when change gets up
what is it sits back
down? I read where

Proust fell for a
biker; yawning in
advance of Caesar

again pit entropy
against your co-pay.
Problems with

apocalyptic medicine
put a dent in my
tweet that joy

savage will not
lay ruler along
the path of

gravity’s dance
step: what’s one with
a badge (old-

fashioned wound)
must be won with a
bandage too.