—moment’s omen—
We were on a train somewhere on our way to Cal-
ifornia. Florida, Panama and the Bahamas lay
behind. Abandoned boys and girls again, the band
of
us. We threw our votes toward the polling place,
too far away to reach… Southern arrest had set
in. We set our sights west. Sunset’s chemical sky
some new recognizance, balm the omen’s notice
might
be… Lone Coast obliquity said come hither…
Steeped insolvency, bittersweet obliquity, bend.
Fit were it the end of it but not, Lone Coast arri-
vancy. Lone Coast obliquity’s behest… We had
just
gotten started, we were barely off. A dream of
outmost arrival obliged us, the asymptotic hustle it
was notwithstanding, a blessing we were bent
on,
boon beyond any, Lone Coast rapprochement…
Either we stood in a line wrapped around the
world or we sat on a train headed west, IDs in
see-
thru ink… Either way we circumambulated, un-
sure which, the ballot box our Ka’ba stone, black
rock, no way to look thru or look into it, no matter
it lay
broken or because it lay broken, come from no sky
we knew… We were scared and afraid fear meant
we knew something, scared being scared was know-
ing’s omen, moment’s gnosis. The Alone lay waiting,
the
we we were afraid
we’d be
Popular
"swipe left below to view more authors"Swipe →
•
I knew there was no we. I knew I knew we less
than we’s rumor. I knew it was a feeling from
before… I knew there was the hum it made at
least.
I snuck a peek at where the Alone were, Lone
Coast intaglio a grimace in the wind. The it of
it might only be the hum of it I saw, heard what
it made me imagine I saw, an aggrieved amen we
were
a moan away from… Why they take it away, why
they try to we were asking. A lady dressed in
black stood in the aisle and started dancing. Other-
wise we sat with refugee blankets tossed over us,
flags,
we later learned, of the possessed… Why we the
had we were asking, wanting more to think of an
earlier life, some lifted sense, something said get-
ting out of a car when we were nineteen… So it
was
and so it went… So we said and saw it come
true… Dispossession got hold of us, possessed us,
got us happy, Lone Coast abandon woven into
the
blankets we wore… Now it was a bus we were
on, going backwards, no matter we sat in front. Where
was the ballot box we were asking, where did they
put
it… We soon saw the way, the fey design of it, away
from Lone Coast while on it, none of us know-
ing where, none of us knowing when. We were in
the
aisle now, the lady in black our leader. Lone Coast
islander, she intimated come hither, gave the air a
bump with her hips and gave it a grind. Give it all a
don’t-
care damn we took her
to mean
____________________
She was the moment’s woman, frustration’s main
squeeze. Given to paradox, don’t-care damn
we gave it up to, all of us only there not knowing
why
she made us admit… She took it from jook to
flamenco before we could blink. Back stiff, head
and chin high, heels hammers, face rationing
pride and duress… Eyes elsewhere, her hands bore
mu-
dras, a sign from the east it seemed. Don’t-care
damn a danced indifference, dance don’t-care’s
ta-
’wil
•
Heels hit the floor, we’d had enough. The lady
in black’s heels hit and ours followed. Heels
hit the floor on the bus that had been a train,
the
bus that again was a train when our heels
hit… A Websterian growl went up as they hit,
cante jondo’s friend. A breathy reed squawk
be-
hind each of us, a kundalini blacksnake moan…
A buttress it seemed it was in back of us. Gravel-
ly strafe Camarón would’ve blown had he blown
a horn… Thus it was we spoke of clowns and
kings,
each of us conducting our lone apocalypse. “Na-
ture Boy,” before we knew it, was on the box
that wasn’t there. Instead, we spoke with our
feet…
An early joy relived in a dream came next. Lone
Coast reconnaissance. Dreamt-of entelechy.
Hint-
ed what arrival might
be
____________________
(slogan)
What it was was dance was a weapon for the
weaponless, would-be some would’ve said. It
wasn’t some “next level” stuff, we’d have
none
of it, a way of being away that brought out
in was all it was, frown-line amenity a wrinkle in
the wind, noses up as though we took offense…
What it was was we did take offense, ballot-box
ab-
scondity afoot, no one would not have. Deep
song dance’s hauteur was no shuffle. All heel was
what
it was, all
stomp
