1,100 Readings


My hiding-place vibrates
like dinner’s in it. Around
a neighbor’s brisket
some deck chairs assemble,
and the young pines
lining the patio do not
sway because it is late
July and from pasture
to pre-fab, corral to
cul-de-sac, all is heavy
still, full of the relieved
exhaustion that follows
throwing up.
                            Like anything
else, a posture – but
in the way we say
animals look natural or
sheep is the cousins
of death, to reassure ourselves
that we’re still young.
Let the things I do not know
stand for things I do not
know, and wherever our
campsite is when the great
blaze begins, they’ll seem
beside us – depending on
how you look.
                               The matter
remains of how to appear
in the meantime: as I
rode in here on a horse,
I’ll ride out on one.
Posted 02/22/10
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