Bernadette Mayer (b.1945)

Auditoriums

Bernadette Mayer

To range in the war was corruption, an error, a snow.

            A snow over Rome. Near the garage to sew and to

            sing — a crystal, inherent, and a wink to the

            chevalier.

To range in the Roman manner was to manage it raw.

The seagoer pressed by the woman in arson. The manager,

            waiting, and in the distance, at least, was wrong.

            He had played it too near and announced in answers.

            A changing is shown.

A personal letter is addressed to the seagoer. Now the

            rangers warn to swear. A reminder grows. The

            manner of the answer is warmer.
The ram, the swarm and the wren, Ramon and Sergei, all

            wane.

Is the seagoer Negro? Arms is the song when the women

            are meaner. And the mason is worse. As the snow

             nears, the green grocer is warned. The owner of

            the organ remains behind. As in Rome, we wear

            sweaters to visit the gorge.

But the woman rose to her wager. Now swear in the arms.

The groan means saner, the arrow warm.