Haul

I am a lens convex, sheepish
And waning, unable to magnify
A fucking thing
This is the daily norm
To call this I testify
Calling across five story skies
And lopping off shade
She has jittery knees
And blue teeth
And eyes that close when horizontal

I’m not intentionally perverse
My surroundings have
Cultivated a certain lack
Of agreeability, if
In your hand-blown wisdom
Such a tenet could exist
Boiling in inferiority
And doing things that are real
But I rub lids that are aging
In a formative state even so

After work, I leave the city
Behind me in the dark
With pistons firing, guzzling gas
A wind of velocity
Noisily surrounding me
In my husk, I screech
Tunnel-bound, in the absence
Of light, disturbingly attached
To articulation- this in stereo
And also yours

I spike my tea
At the crest most supreme
And am no longer unaided.

7 April 2009