jot them down, ask them later
what
if the tides learned their self worth,
and
the moon gives up and gives in deeply-
would
it land in the right spot, where it hurts,
and
could the earth ever find the will to recover?
what
if squalls would wait around
the
corner of every moth flap-
would
the world’s weight
hold
us down all the same?
if
north and south became archaic, could
we
sustain the relief of a good flush, or would
we
receive gratuitous solarstorm scrutiny?
how
about when forests can no longer
bear
to dig their martyr roots, and
the
mercenary brushfire zeitgeist
collaborates
in the coup de grâce-
will
we savour every catch-breath
over
cookouts and calisthenics any more?
and
when the cold human condition floods
every
surface level crag left vacant by
tired
roots, insistent upon challenging
an
uncontested primordial core-
do
we embrace for mutual solace, or fear?
perigee
bring
me to the sheer sublime
gradient
of terra and marina,
only
when a heavy moon melts
perpendicular
along the surface,
and
craters and ripples can elide
show
me its embouchure,
where
the sand is most
malleable
and forgiving
on
scorched soles, where
my
mouth may form its
own
warped mirror
unclasp
a balm hand
while
the other wades,
as
the body pends to
keep
afloat, and i tread
to
commend the body
so
that i may reduce again
to
a single droplet, a mere
facet
on an ephemeral prism,
sanguine
to return from cosmic
ink,
evermore renewed to
blotch
across unscripted earth
outliers
a
tumbleweed county university
brought
forth crude venn diagrams
of
Sisyphean watering holes
and
imperfect smoke circles,
an
intersection of bacchanals
both
desultory and evanescent-
what
were the abstinent to do
but
plan brunch trips to the strip
in
easycore carpools on icarian
pursuit
of the infinity on natural high,
flirting
with the carefree purgatories
of
taking risks on mall piercings
and
splurging on Tripp pants,
limited
GameStop releases, and
clearance
entertainment at FYE
with
honest work-study stipends?
were
their pursuits not noble, and
were
their virtues any less rewarded?
the
excess would cease, or stay behind,
and
left to unravel my 30th return amidst
a
revival of post-hardcore and temperance,
i
sometimes wonder had sweet Auntie Annie
called
first before our crazy uncle Spencer did,
if
i might have better stories to conflate with myths
ultimate sacrifice
had no one endeavoured
to chase the sun,
would we have not
crag, nor forest,
nor monument pillar,
our landmark constellations
of the human condition?
Brian J. Alvarado -
His work has been featured in printed publications of: RiverCraft,
FERAL, SHIFT, Peach Velvet Mag, Heart of Flesh Lit,
and DenimSkin, and online in: Thimble Literary Magazine, Squawk
Back, Trouvaille Review, Roi Fainéant Press, Bullshit Lit,
and Cajun Mutt Press, among many others.
He contributed poetry to William David Cooper’s St. Luke
Passion, which has been performed twice since its premiere in 2021. He holds a BA in Creative
Writing from Susquehanna University. @wrdsrch
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