Excerpt from As If
You Could Say
it's like a patch on the ragged elbow
of a pet shirt; square maybe, green,
with "B & O Railroad" lettered in yellow,
B snagged on the thorn of a neglected
rose bush; or like a pale pink scab,
ripped off the knee of an 8-year-old
racing the late bell, misjudging the crack
in the sidewalk or the edge of the grate
over a deli's cellar door.
You could say that.
But it's more like riding an elevator,
mindless of mechanics, your thoughts
on some goal, some point to be made,
when a maladjustment hits - a bolt
loosens, a pulley wearies,
displacing your gravity - a gush
of air smacking the gap at the top
of your belly, your brain
shrugging over control to physics
and that sudden
drop - back onto battered knees
where words or silence, a look or avoidance,
a sigh of accusation or unwarranted praise
sinks you, scattering pretty-lie proofs.
You've been caught again - exposed
as if everyone knows - does anyone?
Stop looking around - gather up
what you can - pretty or not, proof
or not: they're perfectly good
lies - resilient, reusable - merciful
diversions to build a life on.
The Lure of Freedom
of breathing without a hint of flutter,
odorless, mute, without distractions stacked
in a queue of need, numbered by others
or automatous ambition;
excused from rites of kindness,
reciprocal mercy to touch, to lie;
snipped loose from worthiness
of binding attention;
Exquisite oblivion, those 1st moments alone,
alone, that spasm of breakaway
heartbeats, free of loving
and being loved.