Spume

I opened the door and
found two summers waiting for me

I opened the door and found
a shortcut, through blood,
to your vice

I opened the door and found
wingless angels
on the lawn

I opened the door and
found butterflies
flailing in hot tea

I walked outside and
mapped the flood plains
of Mexico

I walked outside
flanked by
sparrows and skunks

I drove to the
illumination of history
dancing

I drove to the oaks
of barbarism and lies

I drove over bridges
laced with snakes

I parked near
hints of reality

I parked near
a litany of losses

I walked to
plastic saints

I walked to
stony memories

I fell in
love with Beethoven

I fell in
bed with ferns

What comes of
whole creation

What comes of
lightning clouds

What comes of
wind on beaches

What comes of
rolling spume

 

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