TAke Shortcuts
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forward the escapade
of filterings here,
the slithering aura swoop
slid –phoom! of the boomerang
returns and that bended angle
solidly blended
as if tree over-consumed
over the moon-distributed rising
so the summer-filled shadows
absorbed repeatedly and embedding
timeless seams and black disappearances
at intervals along the underneath;
as if I assumed to be a part of the darkness
and in some threat of never exiting
the pervaded shadows; instinctively. . .
Oh the separation
To the kind of thing that throws me
touching brushes as if accidentally outside
myself, and thus the obsidian
when we tire tread ripple
the black water-colored reflection
image over the above or the beyond,
rotates on around from the tired midnight
with miasma spread
into the awesome flip to the other side
in some holy silent eerie moments
but just realizing that, being a part of the shading,
then the more healthy side of the light,
but both evenly vindicated
a measure of that separation
I mentioned a bit ago;
almost describes the one continuous
turn over sustained and drawn along the other
that will never intertwine.
But to get in-between them
Yet when the sky brightened,
And when we finished,
and I noticed as I looked
the sun up into the far dusk,
a complete obliteration of the dawn;
instantly lit equally comin around
as the darkness had shadowed;
that we had rode through only seconds before,
now with paperbags loose at the handlebars,
slunk onto the frames, and the sidestreets
dead-ends funneled again, back, dwindled
visions down into this crack,
split the sky back to only, “damn.”
And out through main roads with our tired eyes
puffed but keen
like white striped main avenue lanes
intersected in wide flashing traffic
light rugged intrigue, alleys at length
bike tire wide trails run along fence lines
and crooked shed paths
near the edge of crick bridges,
under uncertain withering
split soft and slipping strips
next to train tracks
that diminished rail ties
behind the masses, garages, stones,
Tire and Auto company; where we but ended
or began; there next to The Blade outlet and
after folding and banding Garry’s bundle
along the tall wooden counters; then mine
then directly into the place fenced
or behind reaches of high pressure sodium lamps
curved off the building—like so many
city kindled everywhere—just beyond
them screens and window soft-lit glows
—his face— might stay alight forever
in the funneled
criss-cross over the bowl as a distant rage
and whispers about this like only secret place
we could get high in those ages,
by the only possible reason
we had stayed up so late,
come dark a bit, so brief,
each one; then each coasted in strides
cool knowing; that without us
the rousing of the reticence
all would never happen.
Quiet power; wriggled through screens
into the sawing of summer-filled trees
trying to shrink moon inertias away
in the space between
mmmm we rolled, filtered perpetually, alive, by
–phoom!–phoom!–phoom! articles of darkness
—my miniature unsettling words
Lighting up.
Pedal sidestreets between dense neighborhoods
of those people asleep as if further carved
instantly through them shortcuts through
with the over –filled bag twisted to our handlebars,
pulled the morning papers in a
memorized pattern
of each other’s half of the other’s route.
“Naw naw, they aint paid their bill
—skip they shit, man!” went everywhere;
along the empty subcity sidestreet
like dogs erupting within, from the smacks
onto porches or concrete, steps, walkways
stormdoors’ BANGs!! seized necks
shoving shoulders quickly together.
Get outta here and take the shortcuts.