1 New Poem

Equal & Opposite

No words for standing slope-thrust
in muddy mystic sort of stance
that takes up all memory of
summertime, all soot smoke stains on
backyard fire escapes, side bricks,
places you stay with rolled-up dress shirts,
pretend class kind of game, moving slow
to march tunes of considered saying, lock-pick
jingles for dosages when you’re alone and
don’t make it so simple, not balanced in
a car crash logic that it keeps to
run ever farther along to unknown
axioms’ following.

Screen prints of Berlin metros don’t make
you anymore a sophisticate that a
terse-turned sentence of ashen wit that
gets scribbled on grade school walls
and alleyway overpasses in haste,
looking over shoulders to see what
we could have made of ourselves
if only we’d better aligned watch
fragments with sun-dial speculation.

I never got the grasp feeling
you were at a shivering
thirteen pace, or wallowing transcendence
of four corner beds with their stolen
twenty-something kisses;

but neither were you me, so,
how could I know?