February 12, 2011

Some sub-cutaneous layer of muscle

remembers to tighten my pores,  

making me ready, just as though the skin

still held the feathers I erect for flight

 from in here where the fear is,

my body leans forward against the air,

 not putting weight on the ground

awaiting the moment when a gust

returns me to my proper element.


Traces of multiple pasts,

insist on their solutions irrespective

of effectiveness. I imagine

I’d like the sky to enter

my skull, fall through my spine

secure me to land, but my substance

twists on the spindle of old opinions,

 there’s no avoiding the avoidance

the ultimate end and aim of all activity.