Now: Come Back Here!

Sweat prickles: pinched –
too tight! – explode! – each tiny
load of inexplicability pops – flicks
a little imbecility of glint into
your eyes: one may surmise
what’s going on in your wild

dome until the flies come home,
but who wants flies? Now:
come back here! – and rest
assured that I will crack my ear
to hear your faintest nuances,
vicissitudes – and every last

of your fleet beats: and die
inside a bit when I cannot not
size them up as sweet fragility –
as you entreat me to keep pace,
not peace. We race! I’m gassed.
You’re too damned fast.


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