cycling by a
familiar
oval
an
afternoon on the edge of history
moment
(similar
words seen in a gallery
when
you are new to sophisticattiness)
suddenly
not knowing
where
I was
senior’s
moment at twenty-seven
(every
year is new)
afternoon
of gyroscopes
and
grey flotsam, jetsam, and relativism
licking
up the smiles of
babies
boiled in their own tears
the
sea going out out out
to
the bloodied horizon
soon
became clear
mental
map awry
wrought
such fear
I
still recall
in
plangent placidity
(reading
about Stevie Smith
life
made comfortable by the
option
of suicide)
like
an abacus you can count on
whirling
through hyperspace
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