Tuesday, February 22, 2011


While it would be nice were it to become so
It’s like it is and won’t be otherwise.  Maybe
The pining simply avoids that this is all of it,

All the pinnacle to scale-get, what someone else
Somewhere hopes will become of their own,
If only and wouldn’t it be great, and it’s too bad

While gawking and frothing in their loveliness, 
Drooling for it, since we never get it righted
No matter how many experts we let in the room.

Even clouds after bleached days of unbearable
Windless sun-broil, inertia’s deep inhalations
Would be better if only thinner, dispersive

Until the next comet makes deadline. Night
Skies baring teeth, the thudding propeller blades
As the needle works its way to the red zone,

Are impossible to love without the proper gear
And a sing-along camaraderie at a back home
Bar, friends you can imagine hemorrhaging

Their parts like pinging in your ears. At night
There's less noise, it's more gentle, more defensible;
No greedy argument pounces in the blindness, no

Me embedded in the grease between things, no
Fire-breeze bleeding weeds dusted up to recall a
Better elsewhere, where it never happens like that.

No comments:

Post a Comment