-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.
