Matthew Romaine, p.5


In the course of one night an overwhelming paralysis can effect us,
and then leave us, and leave us to appreciate the miracle of our pedestrian behavior.
It is little wonder that here where the trees tattle on the wind
I can shiver like the anvil post-hammer.
The sentiment engages me but briefly and I am left wondering
just what it was about it that impressed me
and how I can get it back, that impression.
Momentarily I know that my face resembles the dumb expression
of abraham lincoln’s when he has been rubbed off the penny
but can still be made out by a discerning consumer. Yup.

Granted, I’ve got a whole baggie of things that sound like rakes
in gold and scarlet leaves when I drag them into me,
but I am operating with the courtesy of a competitive know-it-all
who lets you win so that I might keep playing.
Come down right now! It is a crack in the sidewalk,
lumbering through the concrete like a wounded cobra.
I will fudge you, right down to your core, and make you blacker
than the law allows. It is a fine balance. The blue the red the green,
the aqua dawn arriving in tidal waves, conditioning my affairs.

A few adequate thrashers make crunching noises on the curbs
and on the metal handrails. Their heads are big dead dandelions.