brash. startled. frrring da-dee da. da-dee da . FRRING DA-DEE DA. hair on the right leg erect, contacts clouded, i have slept in them for seven months, my eyes are black anyways, coffee not an option, there is a sock, left, sweatshirt twisted and the inside is out though i prefer it this way. roll, stumble, slam, my knee finds the cold hardwood, the unintended jog to the desk, which is too big for one person, where one lamp still burns and sparkles in the snifter, still half-full of interminable ridges, brilliant foamcrests; they have become Your eyes, which peer forever far and forever here. there are still stains where the tiny ceramic sat, holding a liquid that tastes awfully like october 2006. now, back to this red sweatshirt, which is innocently soft and what i mean by that is that i would never admit it feels like sandpaper. daa-dee, daa-dee, daa-dee. it is still dark outside which means that i am a senior in college. speaking of college, i have lived on the east coast since May, for at least two hours a night even though I am fully aware South Carolina is not a plot on a map [so far as i know, which is actually not far at all]. so they ended, the conversations, as they always must, or, my experience has made it to be. ok, admittedly there is one that always goes on and in my mind and my body and soul or wherever these pieces of bodily existence meet and constitute this [whatever i am] and appears similar to this paragraph [the form, i mean, although some of the content too] and by some strange mystery of grace [i say 'some' as if it is impersonal, but i don't mean it like that. or, well, at least i wouldn't have you think it, if i were being honest, and i'm not] i can share it.
during the some-time
named May
i moved to a town where i was
personally welcomed
by Charles, the namesake himself.
whisting
no less than two hours
each night, cross-legged
where lawn meets sand
from cheval-glass shores
of Montauk or Brighton or anotherwhere
i went
but wasn’t
‘now’ or ‘here’ and ‘then’ or ‘there’ -
words describing movement
from an equator
what-ever that is
a tossing Wake,
a stirring wind,
the caustic sun
without an end
the handle-grip
makes rubber arms
and ribs to back
the girdle burns
Sierra crest
too-oft ascend
swirling about
lake, house, inn
2′o’clock morn
glow of the phone
secured to cheek
unresolved tone
the Walrus strokes
nigritude black
and Johnny Walks:
dance-step. attack.
deep this morning
the searching glows
inclinations
exposed, in-tow
of two-and-fro
and in between
legs tucked under
the playground swings
sailing over
grey-gravel pit
shatt’ring aplomb
appendage-hits
rasberry knees
pulp out from skin
scampering home
to recommence
so as he sits
in pensive place
pithy unfurls
a week-end’s maze
wond’ring what.of
existing with.in
reaching with.out:
Beginning and
End