Shuttle to the Plane


I could get drunk on holy water,

and these violins,

and the darkness branded on me.

Or revisit a pivot point of repressed rupture:


a standing crowd with my kind of anatomy,

on one side,

contrasted by a string of androgynous Germans,

with sharp jaws and skin like clingwrap,

on the other,

making the former look like deflating balloons.


If I take things at my own pace the sluggishness vanishes–

the sluggishness is brought on by the pressure of speed!


But all of it is, anyway,

a hurried flight away

from destroyed nest to destroyed nest–


And still, anyway,

I’m ready to perch.


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