...the letter killeth, but the spirit giveth life...

Monday, March 7, 2016

28. Your Proximity

When I rode with you on the Zipper
my mind swung on two thoughts:

the cotter pin my eye could see
when our cage spun by it,

and your proximity.
I thought I might die.

The pin jumped and turned
to the sound of the ride,

which looked from afar
like a massive chainsaw lit up

by the sun and sounded from
within like one. The pin said

Carny, it said mechanical failure,
it said A horrific scene tonight

at the San Clemente Fiesta
as carnivalgoers witnessed

a popular ride implode.
I thought of twilight sleep,

the hypnic jerk that insists
you’re about to fall and now

you’re falling. You being near me
tried to muscle in on this sad dance.

I’d remember I’m on the ride
with you, who wore clothes

that seemed to fit like they should,
who spoke with a hint of what

I’d later discover is transatlantic
accent, who was not scared by

any discernible measure, by no
shaky pin, nor by my presence,

nor my puking just outside the cage,
nor years of terrible news

sent invisibly in waves and wires
and decay and lust and weather.

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