Homesteading on the Hinter
Every structure slow and dulled
for safe keeping, supplants to contain
the largess of surrounding
wild-lands tamed into prairies.
Then temptation to wear a badge,
like after a grand banquet
where you can feed yourself
with perfect matched agreement,
and ignore the descry offered
in the fog on the solitary
walk home, the transience
that’s solved with disappearance,
as when and how it goes
on as brief aspects only.
The rigid does not want this
thought possible. Frightful!
No. Creepy are the hard grips
on revolvers, the sulfuric smoke’s
miasmic veils. Sad instead--
polished dreary iron of a porch
lamp awash in its own limited light
and left alone, currents read fluid
through moist opaqueness
we woefully grasp to understand
simply as ‘good night’. Go ahead
and ponder to imagine that bit more
about what you’re now supposedly
doing, what has become vulnerable
and frail, calm in the fantastic.