My world,much like yours: 7/8 water,circling in streams, closing itself in cruciform. There’s a blue dusk clouding the houses, hiding clustered tips. They’re revealed at will . in novel form if only by creature comforts. . I keep my eye on gaps of asbestos siding, where seething children play. Then later, in dull moments, I rise to bargain, with sleepwalkers, vandals. Fading dusk, . a whirl of footsteps They rip us apart, voices protesting ` tomorrow’s solar eclipse. Harangues of the young , teams on the street,. echo in oncoming vapors .
Seers of things, dreamers of dreams: hooked on belief in their own endless capers avoiding guesses and clues, embracing the rumors. rising in pulse, text without meaning , the old ones caught in the grease of the wheel. The night’s sudden concussion.
Poetry in Motion 