310 Readings

Once a Horse Danced the Can-Can






I awoke in the modern sense
the clock quipped, morning ripened
I clicked the image of late summer
falling to bruise and rot.

I thought a circle is the shape of light obsessing its object
but I stepped in,
forgot traffic changes state:  solids
turn liquid, colloidal. 
Inscrutable oily dots we resist
what we know to be true.

What else to do but lean in?

O mind you read the map the body composes as sadness
  an axis around which hands pine

Hue to hue, today we walk like lovers,
orbiteers of a question unzipped.

What else to do but dance loss to the quick.
Posted 03/07/13
Published in the Colorado Review, Spring 2013
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