Where is the pause and where is the fighter, where is the simple day of youth, where is the run-up to the show, where is the grey haven, the flitting look at the fairy message, the chanting steel toad, the bastard elbow, the crusted hashbag, the charnel house, the fractal enthusiasm, the smashing layoff, the frothy beard, the whispering foot, the hispering tundra, the show, the professional word, the incidental shyness, the bardic hymn, the gelid panther, the stinging past, the eclectic hum, the rotating powdermark, the sliding steed, the shale conundrum, the slowest dance, the rhythm of dogs, the window of gifts, the language crashers, the slandering philosophers, the insensate whelps, the sheer dogginess of time, the images of man and woman drawn large by animals, the half-thrown flail, the broken home on the border, the town where you raised yourself, the hair you shaved off, the weight of your past, the perseverance of history despite the lunacy of all populaces, the typecasting of the market, the unshouldered burden, the runt with the tickle in its throat, the goat, the herdsman, the New England irrelevancies, the lost and fully unforgotten loves, the bland stargazer, the revealed moment, the masterful giver, the Arctic African, the chlorinated burger, the sublimated post-it, the pudding-worm, the foot-breather, the depth-divider, the half-glance back at the lover who’s just left for good, the rusted ride, the bashful bicycle, the confidence of quarter-age, the drugged and stolen night, the sitting still, the mysterious new, the glorified expectation of non-recognition, the bored particle, the majestic bread, the waking yawn, the purposeful sunrise?
An Italian-American Spaceman Foresees His Death:
Smashing against ashen walls, alone in space,/
Weirdly wired, mind warping/
Through the void, veering over/
The vapid edge of madness, mumbling aloud,/
"Per aspera ad astra, you young asshole./
It’s a rough road to the stars, Rotando."