The Exits and Entrances of Days

Us

We both don’t much like it–

how to breath us in/to

the exits and entrances

of days

 

perhaps

it was a century

or two past –a cabin

near Ireland, that

awful famine

 

perhaps

 

it was here

now—an original

tenderness

 

I have your metaphysic

in me larger

than your favorite blank

et and your drab shoes

 

I have chosen to welcome the anxiety

only because I know we are victims

forcibly attendant and listening

to the scalding sounds

of beating aorta and a twisted

pulse in slow starry vacuums.

 

Us keeping gaseous remnants

meteorites in memory

The mixed passages of atmosphere

warm      depleting     ice     combustible

as we share ourselves.

 

I want to tell you how

everything will be

in the coming ethos

Set out the forecast

of the exits and entrances

of days.

 

This meta-psychic of she and he

or just this rock and that plastic

breathing us recycled in/to

the exits and entrances

of days.

 

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