|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
we park ourselves in lot L
and forget.
slowly aging and describing
signs and pointing at directions,
asking police,
store managers,
strangers,
hoping for
some brief rememberance
of the way out of what we drove ourselves into.
love mart refused to assist. panicking as
the store closes and the night slowly creeps
in, staring alone, spent, without any
way to go home and describe the sweet
smoking explosions purchased through
smiles, favors, chemistry, and exclamation.
standing under flourescent snapping bug swarms
without a drink looking out on the desolate
lot wishing you could see your car.
[it's about 100 feet to the left]
the curb has become an excellent bed.
cold and in the handicapped ramp you've
found the right elevations.
stars from gods, heroes triumphing
over heroes, and fabled mythybeasts
skipping slowly throughout the night
with the moon, emotive, and peaceful,
armies dancing.
and this cycle repeats day after day.
you collect stories from passersby
and help old ladies out of the door,
the children love your jokes and the
old men finally have a reason to come
out of the car while their wives
describe to the salesmen inside their
every heart's desire, motion carrying
you into some vague mystery of purpose,
loveless in what you could take home,
you speak into a microphone of purpose
to those on their way, living, portent,
cables are adjusting weights by your
mass, a division encircling you previously
from the entrance of love and society
has somehow turned you from what you
believed your only possibility, driving
home alone to secrete chemistry into
a bold new gesture. a new move possible
in the spherical chessboard of events.
echo.
speak, receive. complete.
cupid is a greeter.
|