Because we’re allowed to
look like that again, clapping
meadow of bright corners,
the man walking me into
myself, and there are times I want
to be fixed to something. Say what
you wish— I’m not a fighter,
I cannot keep up with the clouds,
brother gods divided into six
part waves. Stop looking that
way, pensive isn’t good on you
— I’m happy in my small
electric chair, lamp unknown to
the table, song home. The blank
river gods underwhelmed,
wondering who hurt who more,
streets won’t go away. The
small toothed calendar says
stop stalling. In trouble the facts,
their lack of response, try
holding on, you, brave, idiot
root of the maple tree.
And when the face changes,
blanket on the floor, an animal
happily clapping to the doors,
my house will be mine again.
Holy bodies figured indoors, we
woke ourselves, leaning into the forest,
we leaned into the room. There was
nothing we were, nothing and that
matters. Fly away little lie down, go
away from here; impatient weather
to break on you, bring you toward
insurance flowers. Anxious
window not saying a thing,
I don’t know how to gauge defeat.
There are still more chances,
little friends, the way wind
would form a thing. I decided
to become wonderful, found my
legs and removed a heart.