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For the Guys

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  • For the Guys


    Haloes! Haleskarth! Contraband!
    I can walk away from anything.
    Everyone loves the Dream
    but I kill it.


    —You’re our end, Cougars perrfel.

    By my hand Fire Ants & Badgers feud.
    Glaciers move.
    That’s a beginning.
    Kingbirds hatch and peeekaboo.
    Monarchs wake too.

    I’m a new horror upon the earth
    releasing floods, sluicing rapids.
    No big deal.

    Top of such heights, my salutations
    ring down and from frozen fields
    cataracts surge loose racing
    whorls of egalitarian wisps.
    By Forrests of pale harm.

    And from slate scattered screes
    where blabblating Brook Trout
    glee, I start the ball rolling
    by ambling off.

    My fiery Mountain Top hollers:

    A thousand Starlings
    soar through dissipating mists.
    I will sacrifice nothing.
    For there are no countries.
    Except me.
    And there is only one boundary.


    Hailey plops down aways
    from my rodeo. Just sits there solo.
    Rigid back, legs locked.
    Shoulders drooping. Sad.
    Though saddest of all, forcing
    a smile, her beestung mouth
    bending up for nowhere.

    And I’m dying.
    The Luckiest Fool Ever.

    Hailey hiccups a cry.
    Hiccups twice. Face splotched and welling
    but lips never failing.
    Still smiling so gently for me.
    O my. What am I doing?


    —Life’s big, Champ.
    Hit the saws and the jazz. And laugh.
    It’s not so sad to taste but never have.


    —Let’S skip stones,
    she glees. And we do.

    Gathering slim, fleet earth rings,
    which by elbow and wrist,
    shoulder and hip, ditching our grip,
    I flick skimming chips
    across the water east
    to Chattanooga, south to Baton Rouge
    even skipping horizons north, for
    permanently icelashed ports.
    Ooodles of hops, rippling bitsies,
    leaping by fifties with spinning arches,
    on and on, down, up and across
    this ever aching flux.

    I am the flux.
    And all gambols too.

    Hailey of course allso tosses her
    weight around, chucking boles of
    stone wobbling out and down, only
    once, with such a dismal plop.

    No hops. Typical.

    But on and on she prances over such
    Durham splashes, frisking proudly:
    —Asheville! New Orleans! Nome!
    She’s a confounding one.


    Jam Up. Jam Down.
    When toast falls it’s jam all around.

    —Catch US on the fip side,
    we exodust. Hailey seated behind, under
    sleekspending skies where clouds of US
    fly and everyone sighs. Because The Chef
    lends US his Bike. On we ride. Slowly.

    Lowland Gorillas panic.

    Because I’m slowing here.
    Because I feer the irreparable loss
    of holding someone dear.


    —We’re allways sixteen.


    Along tarry lanes, through Upton, Wright and Gillette we foliot,
    rounds of US ripping the ground, spreading out across gardens,
    yards, fields, creek beds eased with frost,
    hillsides seized by rime.
    Enough to drive me away.

    But tenderly Hailey holds me tight:
    —We’re allways around.

    Shattering these groves with our untimely freeze.
    Only the most gaunt & desperate Teenage Urchins
    taste the tongue & lip ripping kiss of our trailing egress.
    On flagpoles, chainlinks & steel rails.
    A bristling of hoar to take hold of all we let
    go of and fix. We fix nothing.

    —The crowd’s thin, I shudder for these
    tarrying Bleak, scavenging for breath.
    —Then let’S feed it, Hailey lazzles,
    our awful speed releasing for such Vagrancy, Famish & Perishings
    a way to slip away. Follow US. With dignity.
    Only none ever follows.
    We are all strays. Allways astray.


    Actions long over. Encounters undone.
    Abandoning US to windy roads,
    all skinny, perpilexed and allone.

    Bullfrogs long dead without caring.

    And I’m terrified. What stillness unbounds US?
    And why can’t we turn around, especially
    with Northern Racers lifeless off to the side?
    Because we’re frightful? Beyond the limits of life?
    Only frequently alive?

    Hailey’s Oldsmobile F85 drives on.

    Go! Go go! I O.

    Skareaaaaaaaaams tumbling down.
    Skareaaaaaaaaams rolling down upon our push.

    The sadness of the World before US
    but we are allready after US
    and sadly passing even US.


    —We’re the unmended, the untended, cold soldiers of the shoe.
    We’re the neglected, the never resurrected, agonies of the few.
    We’re the once kissed, unmissed and allways refused.
    Because we’re the unfinished
    and feered and we’re never pursued.


    Because I am too soon.
    Because without her
    I am of ruin.


    For a greater economy shall follow US and it will be outdone.
    And a greater autonomy shall follow US and it too will be outdone.
    And a greater feeling shall follow Love and it too we will blow to dust.
    For I am longings without trust. The cycloidal haste
    freedom from Hailey forever wastes.
    Dust cares for only dust.
    And time only for US.