Masters

The ones waiting for the water to go away from the boat, Oh yeah

The ones asleep in my knowledge of them, dune sleep ( done in) on their backs, beside said river

saying “river, river” hence            If it’s all merely preposition, an aggressive coastline,

a bomb foaming white & empty & not to be in the door of one’s life.

Ones in plaid shirts, shirts w/ snaps, picking through vegetable bins at the market, maniacal,

cooking rice. Holy, holy ones.

Who wear flip-flops. Who wanted soup so they made soup, smelling up

and down the one-way hallway. Flippity flop.

Anyone can botch it. Anyone can wear them out, bouncy & fresh, friendly

to a point and then turned around and around on the jet ski. Cutting donuts

on the notebook of night. Those [sigh] ones,

readers, pointers out.  I know them hard, I knock

on the us-ness of the silence, Oh yeah.                             silent, silent, silent.

My pink suckers kissing a book of bones. Stony bones. A suite. A tango.

A whorish hour.

The ones whipping the earth around, surely, surely this mechanism

[that rhymes with this] has its own day & night, nocturne, sojourn, pedaling so hard  Oh yeah

and broke. Our jaws are broken, are wired shut, shit happens to be

shit we say to the teeth of the river, holding our baggies open, complicit, compensated, God

that we all accidentally leave somethings in the car.

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