To always be in motion there is no choice
even for the mountain and its frigid
cousins floating on the oceans that even sluggish
seethe and moan and laugh out loud at their own
jokes. How like the human heart can be said of
pert near everything, pint of fizz, punching
bag because all moves: the mouse, the house,
the pelt of moon corresponding to the seas
(see above) (now get back here) of mood,
sadness heaving kelp at the sunken city’s
face, gladness somersaulting from the eaves
like a kid’s drawing of a snowflake. No matter
how stalled I seem, some crank in me
tightens the whirly-spring each time I see
your face so thank you for aiming it
my way, all this flashing like polished
brass, lightning, powder, step on the gas,
whoosh we’re halfway through our lives,
fish markets flying by, Connecticut,
glut then scarcity, hurried haircuts,
smell of pencils sharpened, striving,
falling short, surviving because we ducked
or somehow got enough shut-eye even though
inside the hotel wall loud leaks. I love
to watch the youthful flush drub your cheeks
in your galloping dream. Maybe even
death will be a replenishment. Who knows?
Who has the time, let’s go, the unknown’s
display of emeralds closes in an hour,
the fireworks’ formula has changed, will we
ever see that tangerine blue again, factory
boarded up then turned into bowling lanes.