On a night in cave country

    after it's dead and in love with its environs
traveling to the utmost where thought armies,
    peasants, shoeless berry-eaters, and pottery
    tenders who never saw a dragon but in their art
traveling two hundred years through a ruler or five;
    fifteen legs, the one orphan sipped by a cloud
    in Asia Minor and praised in a shambles of bamboo
traveling to some native's breath, by his woman,
    who at noon fought off a beast she couldn't name
    for her sole child whose name she couldn't name
traveling parched under his weather thirsty as marshland
    at the pace of drought, his bed toed into wind
    and his hamstrings the meal of lizards
traveling onward toward the mouthing-off rocks,
    which smell to the lizards of foreigners
    from places where the lizards have names
traveling each their own lane to paradise
    where a suntan studs every leaking blossom
    around which tails bake in the lonely sun
traveling as a slouched cripple to its sense of humor
    where and when people grew up and did well
    for themselves in the spring of man


~ by Jeremy on April 16, 2009.

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