As He Raised His Head, He Felt a Premonition of Freedom

Spartan kids in the burners, lighting up memoirs and condolence.
Taller every generation, more points of articulation
To get up to

that ledge
-so furrowed this face-

Poised to spit.

Prolonged Élan Raises Exegesis

Parties in the back room are doing short equations. We like the sound of it through walls. We are like a soft, pastel hand pointing.

Unless I finish marking the miles, nothing will escape from the current state of civic gridlock. There is a heavenly vulture circling the red light. It shifts its weight uncomfortably about the equidistant points. Living passively on silkworms that intercept its arc. Dead silkworms caught in the breeze.

I don’t think of whether “there is another party in here.” I am wearing bleary perceptions. If I had to resolve them into filters, they would be: no cake, no fate, no rubbish. If I had to explain my presence, I would make a circle in the air and land somewhere else.

Divided Spine Forecast

Carry-

Wedgewood army hapless in soup.

Mixed like wine in bowls
too strong,
blended with hot humours.

Your radio falls back
to 2000 emission levels,
Concentric shells in the new, sparse parade.

Cord and trench, fiber and padlock,
Hands across the vacuum,
Picking slack.

Grains of Talk Over Camphor

Yesterday we rode through Flagstaff. The cargo was noisy. And the engine.

Melanie broke out a suggestion: stopping. Alec was against it. He wanted to catch the first speaker at any cost, didn’t even care for the rest. I could see his position. But didn’t talk.

One more hour of hypnosis. Cacophany and silence. Thinking of the black and white design of her sneakers. If they were animals, would they be black beasts with white slashes, or sable steeds with dark spots? Would they suck up pigment from inky blossoms that limn fresh water? Would the animals be poisonous if eaten, or medicinal in small amounts?

Inside, I am crossing the desert. No hope remains of human contact. One, two more days at most before I lie in defeat. Ahead, the herd looms in flickers. I feel a vertiginous longing. First a subterfuge, and then capture. I apply the shadow shades first. Then the cooling light ones.

Transformation. It feels so good, I wish I had done it sooner. I am among them, laughing, running, feeling the wind on my face. It occurs to me that it is much better to be one of these animals, and leave the trace of man across the sand, dreaming his violent thoughts of teeth rending flesh.

Her heel shakes rhythmically. It is shaking with the heaving cargo, beating in company. Excitement. I don’t think she has ever been west. Or very long in a car. Or to an event of this magnitude.

Alec removes a water bottle from the cooler, wipes the condensation over his face. He sets the bottle back down in the ice and cracks the window to blow dry. His hands on the wheel are tense and tight.