Tobogganing Wake
Tobogganing Wake
Damages, reading the Wake is no opportunity
But the press of time’s circular crowd,
Her many travelers aloft and below,
The lists of intuition stretching to the mists.
Marmalade gifts.
Tootsie treats, gaffes, sumptuous affairs,
The rhythm of her drum and the track and the night who says
Expose and retract grow and retreat
As the season and her retinue of bugs.
The deeply dug and the freshly cut spears,
The asparagus and the weapons of war
Grown up about us to feed the crowd,
Control the ideas left in the sink.
Sticky things as they rot greet the human nose,
The breath coming in, the diaspora spreading out
Like lines to the ship, cues to the next act,
The tickets not needed
So why is everyone so shy to arrive?
Why is judgement a cloud?
Who floats the paper boats and cudgels
About the eyes and ears,
Struck and pulled by wires from our insides.
Puerile, fertile, grimacing with the foray and
In decency, retreating, clothed and eating.
Vaishali, Rupali, Deccan girl’s college,
A cottage, coffee spare,
Thin as dimes, rumpled as sheets,
Taken with tobogganing and the rush of cold wind,
The wipe of cold snow under your cuffs, spread eagle
Yard sale of all you thought you had.
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