Sooner or Later

Fast and loose is the excuse –
poems splutter out like shrapnel
and confetti: disembodied flutters
in a bird-less cage – little bits
of rage against the bars – energy

without much matter – soul-derived
paint splatter – lacking color:
just the impact of a spray of drops:
skimmed right off the tops of some
wet being – nothing but the glisten –

tiny damp vicissitudes comprising
some small unity which now exudes
the vestiges of a bewilderment:
and yet and yet and yet abandoning
the notion that it has to ‘get’ and might

instead let go is strangely fine: fresh
out of wine, the party wearies
of the socialite – nothing left for
either one to prove. Sooner or later,
I guess you have to move.


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