53 Song
53: Song
I stop somewhere waiting for
you.
There was a time, not long
ago,
When nostalgia held sway,
            Remembering the good ol’ days:
                        We were supercharged,
            Remembering the stamina,
                        The can-do optimism,
            Remembering when there were
                        Still leaves introduced upon.
I sound my barbaric yawp.
There was a time, not long
ago,
When I kept looking
back-ways,
            Over my shoulder, side-eyed,
                        Glimpsing Vetruvian you,
            In the mirror, reflected-flipped,
                        Sharing a polished frame, 
            At pictures, filtered and cropped,
                        Fireworks on black palettes. 
Look for me under your boot-soles.
But now it’s now again. 
The same kind of now we had
before,
Only
better, in the marginalia—
                        On the
margins, returned and
            Spoken for in the present, free
                        From stale interpretations,
            Enlightened by best intentions,
                        Of past, lively, signatories. 
It coaxes me to the vapor
and the dust.
There is a time not long from
now
When we’ll look back on now,
like we  
Look
back on then, right now:
            Nostalgia-wrought, sweetly
            Recalling optimistic yearnings
                        Wrapt , yea swaddled, doted
            Upon by stripes among diamonds,
                        Embracing the priceless. 
I effuse my flesh in eddies.
But now it’s now again:
Progenitor: missive launcher:
            Scud dodging, raising domes
                        From amongst the heavens,
            Raining from dewy eyed stars,
                        Meteoric, fizzling on entry
            Celebrating the flanked fragments:
                        Rising from sodden deathbeds,
And filter and fibre your blood:
Smooth crags and straight prairies,
Drinking from gilt, dammed craters:
grails
and cups and chalices.
            Continue singing and fetching,
Failing
to fetch me at first 
keep encouraged.
Missing
me one place search another.
            Bequeath thyself as air. 
Read more poetry, essays, and short stories at Momentitiousness.com

Comments
Post a Comment