WALK AWAY WITH EYES
The sensitive, simple narrative no longer
works. Homogenized flute. Part-time Wall
Street. Walk away with eyes. Just trying
things sometimes works. Amidst, oh, the
pulse of a supernova; rocks, like heartbreak,
crush even the rivers of Eden.
-
At the Roman Circus I met the cartwheel
of the sun, that has no name. Fires had gone
out, and everything was already leveled, with
just people milling around. 'Our Jesus is kept
in a bottle.'
-
By hand I am needing a breakthrough -
melancholy surprise, and the blues are
of a postcard hue. Starry heavens.
Box-shaped malingerers, more shy
than boys. It is axiomatic, all this range.
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