A year Later (More or Less)
What amazes me most is how happy
to hit that late-night air, blossomful of
implicates zap-unfolding boyhood charts,
down decades, floral musk memories
to run to April dark with the bouquet,
throw them at the moon in all her shawlings
as she winks this way and that, patterning
the clouds in that coy cabaret she rides.
Take a breath. Take another one for free.
Something tells me I may be off my case.
I really don't know how I got to here,
thinking how I struggled for a mere ghost
back then, the great dissolution of me.
There's no sweetness like forgetting heartbreak.
...
YOU ARE READING
Bare Shouldered
Poetry"The difference of high Sensations with and without knowledge appears to me this - in the latter case we are falling continually ten thousand fathoms deep and being blown up again without wings and with all [the] horror of a bare shouldered Creature...
