Tuesday, November 4, 2014

PAUSE. (ELEGY FOR BLOOD AND GUTSTEIN.)

Recent “now” stats reveal
a few hourly search trends



No impediments, on the last day of your life. The streetcar doesn’t idle at its signal, on the last day of your life. The rain doesn’t slant hard enough to slush your sandals, on the last day of your life. Nowhere does the sidewalk produce a reflection, on the last day of your life. Nowhere do the numerals above doors duplicate the year of your birth, on the last day of your life. Engines howl behind clouds, on the last day of your life. Engines buzz all about you—wet, thirsty, hoarse, reluctant—on the last day of your life. No impediments, on the last day of your life. Lights at eye level, lights above, lights failing, on the last day of your life. People in threes, on the last day of your life. The beige heavy stones of old downtown buildings, on the last day of your life. To the south, not visible, the systolic beat of the river, on the last day of your life. The space between an impulse and a correction, on the last day of your life. The twinge of a tendon.