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By series: Bridge St  In Yr Ear  Ruthless Grip

Tab A Goes into Slot B
He said something about the weather,
the government, the races at the edge of town.
The rains came to the discontinued trees.
We were devoted to our surroundings
as if being were a giant thing breaking over our heads.
He wasn't the least bit surprised at how much
I fainted or how I envied everything.
Add to this my ability to jaunt
as though I were of two bodies, and my unfailing belief in motion itself,
whatever shape it takes in the end. This fact
is loyal to itself only, boxy and permanent.
Outside, pigeons spoil the Hudson, falling
cold and unsolvable. Shadows fall,
free of even their own attenuation.
Nothing is in the past, elephantine and happy.
At least the grass was something alive, with us
in the four or five ways we knew how to be.