-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...