you think you're you. therefore: a moment's connection - the beautiful river you whispered. dog ahead, snap of accident woods, or so they seem - gray, looming veins thick against sky. bird, or raven calls. I think, we've lost the natural word, - and must remake ourselves a connection, in a depression, the mortal sense of one's own passing in good time - is maybe, good meanwhile, the meanwhile - the thought whirling chemically, bodily - the rhythms these steps, and tracks on Cottonwood Islands' snow leads to the future as to the start of the countdown.
|The East Village Poetry Web