Thursday, March 21, 2013

On Tour (After Brighton MA)

Lusting for leg 
room, fresher 
air, better words,

and flanked by 
unmoved herds of freighters, 
progress plucks nowhere 
special on a lengthless sting.

But If rhythm is itself an instrument, 
then these medians form forgiving double bar lines,
inviting repetitions of the same scenery
with each fresh beat of time-

because miles, like measures, aren't crossed to be gained;
we were born to be moved, 
and it's death to arrive.

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