not now but wasn’t there then
a store
at that end of town where one
could
find scottish thread and egyptian
needles
where one
could shout hooray for love
hooray
as if
balloons bright primary colors
might
float up inside the swelling self
the savage mystery of it all
that many make religion
out of
or worse
that sadness makes its music of
the alone the alone that live in
memory
for no
sake but survival’s churning muddy sake
the tears and anger that
incinerate
us from
the inside out
alone
as the
oyster must be
as the
single shattering drop
of rain
must be
there there at the edge
of sadness of a town
that
forgets where it once ended at the edges
of
cornfields and quarries this
town
that
swallows itself daily as Saturn did his sons
as the
mantis does her inseminator who is never
privileged
as mate or lover
listen to
the music of these clustered ruins hear
valves slam shut in the dying human machine
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