In the midst of your catastrophe/more results come to you/ from clipped fingers touching still water /than the broken dreams of the Ouija/ the forests that lie within your lifetime/like the lilt of your voice/over the roar of the greasepaint/in a time lapse from when you’re younger/catching your breath in a later day:/You’ve used up your endless sunrise/you’ve had more of them than anyone /who blinks in the foam that they well in /they boundlessly radiate/seeking then end of the corridors/ in the unmarked pavilion
In the Midst of Catastrophe
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Poetry in Motion 