Published Humanitas, Volume XIX, Nos. 1 and 2, 2006

My Nineteenth Year

Slower, great wheel of our circus

Of Barnum-and-Moriturus,

Sink lower slower.

Green is calling, “Stay, stay”;

Gray is calling, “Sink away.”

At wheel’s deep dip, in order to allay

What can’t be stopped, this gray,

Make one plus one equal three.

Make you and me be we.

Idea-drugs don’t help very much.

It’s the thingness of bodily touch

That changes “apart” to a part,

Each more than only an each.

Green now is near and out of reach.

My touched, my toucher, come to me.

My Ferris wheel’s now changes, as I look closer,

Into a coaster.

Mixed metaphors? Let them be strewn

Like woodchips when I carved for us

A Trojan Pegasus.

Scrap wheel tropes; I’m now unalone;

You unnamed presence, you’re the one

Whose touch got this reversal done.

Running the traffic lights of norm,

My sickbed is an ambulance on

A roller coaster to the moon.

How cold my gray, how warm.

August 2005



Is there an eastward western gate?

The wind so sways the grasses

They seem to be waving goodbye

From the horizontal door.

That door’s a grave.

Just now they seem to be waving

(It’s Easter) goodbye hello.

August 2005