he passes
under the streetlamps, straight and steady,
below the vertical sleet in its determined plunge to ground
beneath the broken pine bough, the branch that hangs in line
with trunk
parallel to his final direction
at odds, nine decades of degrees,
square
to his desires, the thrumming progress
and drumming feet that clack
that cackle their importance, ahead, in these monastic hallways
he, reckoner,
makes his judgments beneath the clinical eye
adrift from the veil and pillow of his pills
the reckoner prescribes his course
traces his arc across the sky, unbounded
by the mere gridiron of our infrastructures
awarp and weft, a tangle woven around his complexities of mind
aswath, a broad stroke along his gentle forearm,
across his fragile spine, and over the slight crease accompanying his jaw
he passes
more?
Comments
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loved awarp and weft, and unbounded reminds me of a talvin singh song. also liked gridiron.
nice ending, nice movement. structury. fixy.
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reminds me of we the living.
Stop trying so hard. Awarp and weft is really very nice. Pillow of his pills and that shit about sleet is not. Do the feet drum or clack? Do you give a fuck? I'll stop.
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