what they seek
is peace—
as if it were
an exotic insect, bird
of paradise, or one-day bloom.
Time and again,
I’ve seen man
and woman
scour the streets or comb the web
I’ve watched one
after another splatter paint
over blankness,
Time and again,
I’ve seen man
and woman
scour the streets or comb the web
for what they presume to have
lost in the womb.
I’ve watched one
after another splatter paint
over blankness,
whistle past
hiatuses, build bridges
over chasms, and
march forth in its name
like some half-
mad lepidopterist, net in hand,
and ignorant
hiatuses, build bridges
over chasms, and
march forth in its name
like some half-
mad lepidopterist, net in hand,
and ignorant
to the boobytrapped-
pit-as-prerequisite trope—
to the fact that it’s more than
good etiquette, it’s
foundational—it’s the most
one can do
(if one does
what one can)
to carve
to the fact that it’s more than
good etiquette, it’s
foundational—it’s the most
one can do
(if one does
what one can)
to carve
out a little fallow
space in the middle
of life's hazards and transactions
space in the middle
of life's hazards and transactions
which may give that capricious,
fleeting, alien peace
a chance—
by which I really only
mean: a decent place—to land.
