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.
