Warm Water






Warm Water

by Rob Rice



jazz drummers are in the business of letting us know

exactly how many right nows there are per second


creased at the eyes

face like a book

dog-eared anthology of dense smiles


how satisfying it would be to rip

a medium sized tree out of the ground


if you were a giant


i know you’d liberate

the little breath trapped there


is the city like a chandelier

arms folding like a thin fingered fist

in maybe by magnet


a hanging spider’s legs

that gather miserably around

the caught can for a hopeful second

be interpreted as loving


in a way it is


a surprise then

affirmations of sadness

like yeah


this is experience


study it


shop thought talk of the dead

isn’t qualified

but definitely

they can sleep anywhere

if they’re depressed enough


electrical energy amassed

enough in the shoulders

to critically ablate a brain tumor Veins lit through skin

filaments that take a second to blink away go

migraine grey

as an afterthought




our whole culture is driven

by that shit

it used to be

a small town




the statistics



negotiate this


people enjoying the company of their dogs

say off hand

we need to add minutes between the hours


that’s their plan

to get away with it