Morning Walk

In unbolting the heavy gate
minuscule shredded declarations of independence confetti – flutter
only to fall and float on
puddle shores.

Once jacketed, bagged, poor postured,
back turns to wave at brickwork,
neither shoulder bears hesitant,
reluctant chin. Neck, chin, nose,
eyes; in branches.

Slice in half a periscope and
give me one piece, for all the
good it might do in lifting my
gaze off of hardy blades and
stray tarmac.

Wading through heavy morning air,
once a tempo has been negotiated.
Passing rural structures I see not
fully formed but in the midst of
their construction.

Mechanical iron titans progress
with the speed as of archaeology,
overhead, over my beachy head,
sounding sirens who on hearing;
I am shipwrecked.

Brittle brown, little bones
play dress up with the descendants
of Eden, herbivores versus
an invasion of soundless life, riots
quelled by two metal fingers,
Patting me on shoulders as I
stride into a Blake-Butts
correspondence, numerous six
metric feet on radiance and
coastal clarity.

Transferable aphorisms and
authorial imperatives on the
merits of a fresher air or the
building of appetite, not yet
is a hole worn.

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