"There/Enough"

There/Enough
Where you lay your nose to the ground, a thundering,
horse hooves in your nostrils, gravel spit
Lost no more.
A bird-call from outside the horizon’s thin demarcation

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A city drowns or is bullied
shot to pieces its mouth cracked open
in perpetual surprise

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Boiling under where blood
invites gusts to enter
history confused by memory or lost
in evidence

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As unlikely hosts
we can’t be pilgrims
at this dinner
can’t stick an apple in the pig’s
mouth and call it a day
these prayers are, if not broken, less able
& these descendants? Where do they sit?
What does it mean to pray without ceasing?

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I gave up my pipe
early on couldn’t keep the tobacco lit
its purpose was lost in ritual
in evening’s flint & promise
of conversations that came in drafts

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Posturing in the rain still as a kite with two winds
gathered at my throat
What keeps us standing
holding up a spoon and handful of grubby herbs?
What keeps us offering praise as the river
appears to rise over maxim and eye?

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You write the governor a note asking for clemency
you do not beg & won’t lie in the dead grass and cry
an open letter to the world
it would be unfortunate
a dialysis where pings pang and move on at first blush
the sugar highs and gentle quacking
of machines left to their own corners and devices
A symphony revealed in grace

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Take your valley back
it wasn’t mine anymore anyway
shoot salt at shadows, pick from high branches
whatever fruit is there
sourgrass road
skins of bicycle tires strung over eucalyptus
that smelled like home

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River road and ridden
rounded rocks winter finally
and done with such summer’s
skulk in the undergrowth of bridge sighs
where earnest secrets tied to beds
go bone-dry

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Halves of days born in expectation
their tiny windows won’t open all the way
the bathroom seems too far
maybe we should sit closer to the door no the screech
of footfall of finality no the fancy-pants dance
of musical chairs set in place
rowing memory for those not sitting
no not today

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A florescent sign hiccups
a slightly queasy red over the avenue
we pass slowly now
there’s a window filling with sand
then another
Sleep it off , we can try again tomorrow.

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Take the weight off your feet
better to better feel the wheels
grab the tracks & move us on.

Click here to read:  "There/Enough"

poetryBarzakh Mag