Sunday, 28 October 2012

Remembrances of Our Place

Like the god lying down in the mountain
hand rising at the watery horizon
and the baritone gaining control
of several operatic languages
I want to drive, no longer driven
as a lost boy not to stray, under cover, borrowed cover
calling like sin to throttle my hippocampus
so busy not to sort the chaff and coincidence.

Faraway, nature has a field day with reverse psychology--
fertile entanglements fill a matrix
at closing time no longer welcome to go home
without coats and tails unraveling
and always longer half-lives
set out to test one's mettle to love the land,
to put up and leave handles for branded vandals,
or shut up, pissing on sand castles.

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