-Repeat Minus the Lather-

As if it were bricklaying or
an onion we could dice and
caramelize with olive oil

we imagine it facebook-eventable
but peace is a memory problem.
It fades. We repeat it to ourselves,
we repeat it charbroiled.

Already it slipped my mind
how my stomach goes
hydroelectric at the top of a swing
chainrust squeezed into my palms
rubber seat arching.
Zoom in on sky, ground

pans out.
And I have to hear peace
again when later I’m impaling
at my keyboard. That cursor
blinks, like a crow molting.
Blankness in its feathers.

I go off to smite against a wall.
Come back incorporeal,
and peace is whispering
something slow and tree sap
and I miss it. Preoccupied by
the branches and rootwars

the concrete on the curb
cracking upward.
Peace, even carved lavishly in
constipated rage
on a bathroom wall
is forgettable.

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