Slow at Work Today

Hesitant articulations, afternoon, a slow rise
in cascade of the before mentioned lilt
found in this creaky chair. Alternate arm rest.

This is not yet polarity of much of anything.
It is me sitting with some sounds imaginary.

Herds momentarily free of predators.
Flocks without bragging rights to flight.
The mating ends of the meadow are stalled
in the viciousness of dry grass. Uncalled,
on occasion, I can find myself in all
that may be heard in the silent bottom.

The urbane mirage, posits that only have been.
There is more than this flat sleep.

.................................................I recall once
swimming from a beach shore and after enough
distance, the water fell below its own hush
while air rumbled with the churning sand dunes
behind to pressure the strength of my limbs.

So perhaps the day is Wednesday. Perhaps
summer is flying by and the small village
to the south awaits struggles of the new crickets.

Prague in May? Said to be, the most beautiful
city in the world. Perhaps it will find a way
on a bridge with a continuation ok enough
to form. And maybe not. But the force of something
always winds with coming unrest. Flushed composure,
a new trouble brought over. The migrated torrents
hidden and inlaid from mandates of our old fables.

Now these hung upon the pale sun’s blinding swirl
awash with the postponement of gravid blindness.
Now with the lapsing surfaces for an interior.

Between before and after-- birds in the masonry,
fluttering grain brown feathers and portioning
unstable events across a calm field of water,

and one can surmise the little stories that will be
told with all these occurring minutes, the sowing
of glass and the boredom flickering from fervid
words in the tavern that have a place in presence
both here and beyond a yard named description.

A summons, a funnel past the chapel, where
and when the plots reveal the tickets I refuse
be refunded, as how an unborn antiquity
can’t collect a final cost before the being here.

As the clock shakes hands with the peripatetic,
the phantom allure with a snake's hunger
only brought into an emptiness that sheds
the something that will continue with change.

My elbows wearing a bit further down now
like worn shoe soles. Soon past a point already
and time to get out and head back home,
knowing what I feel like doing tonight.

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