Chris Pusateri



 from Sight Acts




Orphans without

Titles are September



In the lumber beyond sleep

We stagger

Our cues.


Forgetting the boughs

But not how the birds

How the birds

How the birds






You can grow no stiller.


A grammar of shame

Bothers what brought it


And never does the stammer proceed.






In the frail skin of autumn

Things are different.


The uncertain spine of

Biography bends.


There's a name for this

Disorder, but it's lost

Amidst the flickering seasons.