Someone inside says, "Get busy." But I've got appointments to keep, I have an abstemious love of equations calculated quickly While the tepid day melts into design. And the high cheekbones of the beautiful life Bear the loose look of a calendar by lamplight. I search for patterns in everything. I am tied in knots of comprehension. I think, how useful it might be To pierce all the hands of the earth With an oath of pins encircling snarling planets But talent and shallowness sewn together Is nothing but a kerchief tied around a survivalist's head, And it helps to know the feet wriggling through a hole In the universe will land for an instant Upon the cushions of the dark, And that after marching one doozy of a kilometer after another, We each come upon the same poem scribbled in invisible ink Taped to the door of a room In which an austere justice is burning for us.
Our ancestors in the earth are not
Ashamed of us. The strong smell
Of dirt, the delirious rabbits, the
Clocks are all disappearing. A
Prehistoric gift acquires the smell
Of salt. I grasp onto winter’s tail.
Some water plants are lying around.
Smell & taste, I have had good
Luck in love. The slippery roads,
The capricious numbers on a blazing
Road, meet me at the forest’s edge
Where we can go with our legs
Lopped off, strangers to the clean
Teeth and tongue of outward happiness.