from Nowhere/ Always/ Everywhere. #2

        They drove off, waving
from the backseat,
on the wrong side
of the road
at first because
the Moving Truck
was still reversing in.

the Bulb invents its filament,
Lightning stalks the lonely,
and the over-celebrated.
Death: a living body…
Form: a Life imagined;
exercised athletic substance
excursions running mountains
kayaking mountain rivers
cycling into effigies
of how we want enlightenment
through urban redevelopment
where I am neither slow
nor medium, and certainly not
the fastest, even with the advantage
of the water grabbing gloves on.

once, it was only, ever, & always
the performance
at the parties…the artistry
of light, and the bass
we smuggled in
the arteries,
beat, move, & pick-up,
the navaho cortex,
mushroom cloud
and cactus way,
cornering those
who took
their thinking on
verbatim
from their parents, teachers,
government, while not the most
creative
were the more reliable
and they would not be left
texting on a beer crate
in an empty lounge
as the moving truck
turned over in the driveway
as the last red worded
boxes were carried out.

2

I’ve plugged the ears with age
and snapped the rubber cap on,
sprayed the anti-fog, filled the gaps
with home-made, I’ve rode the waves
of causeless bliss, lifting weights
and waiting lift. I’ve left her
singing gently from an inner happiness
to pull her tights back on, how she puts
her best toe forward, I wouldn’t drink again
…unless I had to, there, for courage, full
comfort in the density of real things,

and their not-ness, too;
the outside shape the white horse
makes, stood still, is enough,
in the green grass, snow
tinged bluely on the mountains
behind the cemetery, where strollers
and their babies
feed her yellow flowers;
I latch on to a bouquet, the smell
in a shipyard, the steel and
the hard work,
the feel of a hung bell
looked at.

 

 

 

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