what even is

this place at this time

maybe it’s a story about being a body in this world
in an age of destruction on the verge of
remembering her collective life
despite the current bluster
i cannot be alone
in having have felt it creeping all of mine
while regularly and inexplicably injured
by the force worked so aggressively to stifle
that still, small voice that has always been
all i ever wanted to hear until nodding
in response to this thing
David Wagoner wrote, which I paraphrase
regularly in my thoughts
as Here is the place where you are,
and you must treat it like
a powerful stranger
.
so here we go again––


Hello, strange stranger, you are
all of us now, and i can’t keep from
dreaming some possible arrival
even here
even now

Glare

Right here, overseas.

Against the weaponed horizon of that giant’s resolution and a terror so common as to be de-barbed by dailiness, one may wonder, what dwelling is this? Cushioned cradle that may spring in the next breath catapulting some feeble syllables of the last exhalation on an often named but never understood strangeness into the end of history. But it never had a mirror or a bare face, did it? We knew it only ever by its masks. Which one is this?

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