Cooling Poses
The air was laced today, with
washing liquid and grown barley smoke;
a grand idea at the time,
lightning kisses and dreams
concrete lightened moods.
Not for me, though, a misty monk
hopping between half-ruin places,
torn and wavered, beacon burned
out from too many flashes.
“Live with disappointment”, with
posthumous fame and fortune,
waiting still for decoration day;
pinning the medals missing now.
You told me it was the right
condition of the ages, steamships
and railway gauge were last
worthwhile things to come from
Thinking after dark, and it’s just
us and the adding machines now.
I stood out in cigarette haze
on a corner somewhere marked
By summer’s muggy choking,
belted a few bars of Against Me!
and waffled on joining the ruckus
inside, flicking through responsible
Pieces of presence, finding
explanation wanting.
