Saturday, September 27, 2014

GRAVITY FEED Part Fourteen


So something has changed—
the wave curled in at Brighton Beach
minutes after Rockaway—

we intercept our fates
traveling perpendicular
between Jupiter —that tyro star—
and where we are.

A line of fate
runs down the palm—

my head anyhow is full of Gypsies,
I am the tower of Babel
I am in heaven
you are angels
staggering around—

or is fate somehow
different from what happens?

A secret elsewhere buried deep in here?