Pre-Cell Observations In Two Parts
In the evening our bellies are full
as summer fills the streets with speckled stories --
we wait for anything
under the copper calm
the city is littered with questions,
a resistance to patterns
beneath the mundane welt of stars --
quiet on the AM radio, naked without noise;
staring at the girls that flaunt their features.
to the city and trying to find
where my head was transformed --
can barely find the old house.
Neglected history collides
connections to be exhumed:
a father instructs, a mother praises,
and there is some deep-rooted comfort
in this happy family image,
but I know far more
about the things that were wasted as I stare
into the small mirror.
The pain in my bent thumb
impairs my ability to hear the Mozart concerto that plays on
as the dust settles around the car accident,
a cop floats into view
with a trained brain to organize his movements
and large eyes to take in the mechanics of gore.
Real life is a complex tunnel,
sometimes dull until reaching the abrupt end
like a spiraling tide.
I've trapped myself within the snowbank --
an isolation that infuses the quiet with weight,
guilt is not the answer
but as is usually the case
a better one does not exist.
The police can't find this sanctuary,
just one missing adversary
in the clotted system,
that hangs in
the air like
words: Tyler Cobb, Minnesota (The Relapse)
image: 'May Mile Sunset' - Justin Kern, Chicago (The Windy Pixel)
another isolation that infuses the quiet with weight: Butler Creek (#21)