Postcard from A Sailor

Postcard from A Sailor

Rock & Sling 9.2

Postcard from A Sailor (#6)

Arriving in California

just before Thanksgiving,

I’d say I felt pensive

if pensive were the sensation

of one billion thoughts colliding

in the cerebral cortex,

not pinprick stars,

more like dark matter chaos,

more like an unweaving,

a de-constellating,

the loss of any sense of order,

of any sense of navigation,

as if the parking tickets were papered everywhere—

and the email had begun to explode—

and the cars all crashed into one another—

and all the marriages torn asunder—

the children unborn—

all the tools tossed into the sea—

if there were a sea—

if there were any stars by which to navigate—

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June 14, 2008

Gently, now, for we begin in earnest.
Gorgeous how things suspend: this peacock
feather, the bar to this cage, the clue that tells us
the cage has been opened. The stump from the gatepost
that once let us in. You can’t help but glimpse
the five minutes hence, the cumulus pilings,
the lean-to of gold. Be ever watchful for the rise
of the phoenix, for the slow descent of his son.

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