from Hail Gazers #3

I used to have a drinking problem:
I always ran out before
I’d had enough. And
I brought too much, and
drank beyond the usefulness
of alcohol—people getting drunk
happily releasing as they go.
I used to have a problem with unanimous.
No day belonged to when
I wasn’t really sure
the Sun was not a Router— in a world
built for fiction; I started off determined
that this wasn’t Evolution
but Addiction—people growing
out of each other, copious in starlit,
through disaster,
and audit, and economies
borrowing and borrowing,
for warmth, for wart removal, the
environment, the burrows
and bunkers and stations,
colliders, soldiers, the stalwart
psychoanalytical conclusions
made by leafy large windows
about Pensions.
I used to stand in lightning
with a rod, a storm Chaser, a
hail gazer in safety goggles,
icy tic tacs loud in the mouth;
I used to get my teeth bloody
hot with the research
of the habitats Conspiracy rabbits
grew on people, ears and eyes
tickled in radio interference
from blood-sedated emotion-farmers
addicted to determination—I like my
non attachment, very attached
I am, and I’d debate the scriptural
declarations hearing you achieve
Weather™ like thieves, seeking dominion
by trailing your chemicals. I used
to like the shadow from the frames
of thought, the ribs of words used
to prove a point. I liked to move
the light source, so that what we’d been taught
fixed, moved, as the light moved. I thought
I felt as much. A ‘Cabin in the Woods’.
The children have no tops on, swimming
in air beneath the sinking feeling of a barometer,
manipulated, sliding on a lubricated sheet
down a grassy slope; the boys do not pay attention,
at all, to the girls hardened milk ducts;
there is one I am watching closer than the others,
she has a dark beginning in her wet underpants,
and where skin becomes a breast, there is a lift
in her awareness, and will require a changing of the guardians.

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