You might someday discover/where my future lies./You pave the streets with alibis/Launched, in awkward grace,/I win, at long last, the current prize./I’m forced to look into the distance/where eureka stores moments/in the side of a gaunt busted cheek./I kowtow at the baseline,/asking you to perform black magic/your joys will receive me/ run in the direction/naked on the ceiling./Where noises vainly hammer,/cruel words are sidestepped,/they’re pressed between pages:/I save them like flowers.
Logic of the Rearguard
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Poetry in Motion 