How we loved the high style we wore
for vanishing occasions
though its warrants wore us down–
logic’s such a drag on
transformation—it just can’t match
the dark unwieldy charm of living
mostly outside yourself.
They later said a feeling
like a sorrowful trance
overcame them all at once–
they could not resist or run.
Mr. Billy found them
wandering his winter pasture,
called the sheriff to take them
home. Even hypnotized
they were unable to account
for the remote location
of their car.
That overgrown yard
I pass by after work–
rusty lawnmower abandoned
not even halfway through the job,
everything there already over,
everything already undone.
By the time our opportunity arrived,
our good name had been made bad for good–
they rolled the spite and wordage out and
rolled in it too like dogs in muck. Oh yes
we dreamed of crowbars and poisoned soup,
slippery factory floors, electrical
mishaps. Meanwhile rain crackled like shifting
ice, thunder like some implosion of what
we felt in that suddenly flat landscape,
nothing in sight but weather. We hastened
to relocate our spoiled selves, jettisoned
our personal effects, and now we stand
stout in the rigging of our rebirth.