Scratch rabbit hand
after let’s do kissy-
face. Embarrassed
or hot under the collar
or shy or having in my
head already built a
cogent graph of our
future and there’s
too many red-lines.
Must wall it up. Must
build a bunker for this
happy mess of a
no can do. So I
take off on a
tangent. Bottom
line: eradicate!
And you thought
I’d no rhyme
nor reason.
Things happen
Things happen
in a still life.
It’s a stunner
to me, too, but
the freaky fact is
who refused to
who refused to
pop a Darwin
like the best
of us? As
stupid as
stupid is, at
least I can safely
say that I’m no
hypochondriac
anymore, glass
hypochondriac
anymore, glass
half full and all.
Once I started
understanding
panic there were
fewer and fewer
attacks, until I
wasn’t a hippo
anymore. “So
wasn’t a hippo
anymore. “So
what’s your secret?”
Things unravel. “Like,
Everything?!” “Yep.”
Back in the war,
they’d rev up
to around triple
what they were,
say, in my 30’s.
And then there was
the crash; walking
barefoot to school,
half a foot of snow
on the ground. It
still has me jabbing
at my head. “What’s
genetics, Gene?”
“A shot in the dark,
say, in my 30’s.
And then there was
the crash; walking
barefoot to school,
half a foot of snow
on the ground. It
still has me jabbing
at my head. “What’s
genetics, Gene?”
“A shot in the dark,
Mark!” Then, “Shoot
that poison arrow,”
I choke, half-
cous-cous. . . .
that poison arrow,”
I choke, half-
cous-cous. . . .
Miles and miles
later, elevated and
fizzy, I flash for-
ward to the
flashback,
where groove
is always in
the art. Mos’
where groove
is always in
the art. Mos’
def! every
heavy heaves,
With cert! comes
the echo, all
the bodies in
formation w/
their fists up
high and
pumpin’
all smart.
