Clear
clothes, pillows, books, letters
of the germs of need –
the need to have things mean
more than they do.
Claim verticality.
Trust only the words that begin
their patter
in the rain-shadow valley
of the mind.
Some nights
you’ve seen
enough earth
and sky
for one lifetime
but know you still have unfinished business with both.
So here again,
that old cliché, pain,
and its endless syntax
of gurgle and clot.
But better swamp –
always better swamp –
than scrubland.
Settling is bondage.
Wandering, vagabondage.
(Someone said that before?)
(Citizenship is bondage.
Dual citizenship, James Bondage.
That’s a first!)
Once you know
what it’s like
to be chieftain,
serf, concubine
and prop,
what’s left?
story
curtains
story
curtains
until you’re done with both.
Once you’ve seen grain
you don’t settle for acrylic emulsion.
Stretch
until you reach
the edge,
then consider a pause.
(It’s usually worth it.)
When they vanish,
leave the door open.
Gingerbread boys
run away but return eventually
to their bakers.