7.07.2010

___________________________________________

If I could
walk on water,
I would

walk atop
the red carpet
in the Gulf of Mexico.

Buttered haven,
sting-y patterns
in the news

like a lashing
staphylococcus.
I whispered

a "Chinese whisper"
& it was
like a repeat

of nineteen twenty-nine
...the Great Depression.
The eyelids

of America
are swollen--
words limit

the enquiry.
Perhaps I'm on
the right track now.

Days ago,
I thought
of places to visit.

Those double
brushstrokes
are beyond me now.

I commute
to music,
having lived

without noticing
the edge,
never seen,

torn from
obvious severity.
I had an

unerring grasp
of the
unfunctional muscle

that drifted away
like a lazy day,
precipitately cloudy,

as if
I had
obtained

my mother's
hidden
nostalgia

for our
native land.
My goal now

is to
peacefully attack
that part of

the human mind.
The talk of
ushering in

a general
confusion,
like a

ploughed field,
are pajama'd
pejoratives

of splendid comfort,
ablazed in
feudal time

with
little touches
of levitation.




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