When the wind isn’t coming, that’s when
it’s up to us to see it through. Make it
marketable. Step for step, held breath,
when pike is put, rail is run, a step is stupid.
A new steepening in expenditure. Sure it is.
I’ve been beaten some by making money.
More by making a living. Still more I’ve been
soundly trounced by the binding tongue of love.
Lifted even as a cookie sheet, though thin
as a bedspread. Stuffed and insufferable.
My dog is good. Means are met, needs made.
Wait. It’s that I’ve grown afraid to say, in saying
something thoughtless, something meaningless.
What about having kids and making ends makes us
mute. What is it about finding ourselves fully
formed that feels so much like a last stop. Forgetting
that movement is all that ever mattered is still a surprise
when it’s remembered. Even today, babe, reassembling.
Even as I am with you. I love you. This is all to say that
history bears repeating. There is no such thing as this building.
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