16 December, 2013

Monday January 6, 2014 § Leave a comment

the lone & pristine van exits
your imagination the way it came in
banishing an ancient quietness
it is a test of your severity
the way the lights climb out
of your happiness
searching the roads
an unbreakable symbol of your reticence
I get into trouble at both ends
of my life, caught, an object
in search of a subject
without
(or unable to recognise)
the conditions to exacerbate
and refine
my wildness
tired of secret histories
there are only secrets and histories
long miles that harbour no resentment
only places & excuses
it is not joy, but one’s
capacity to receive it that is narrowed
and diminished in the
foolish sun, and the distances it opens
with what it leaves behind
on the road

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