Awkward Traffic

Awkward traffic skirts the general fever of Post Office
and village stores. I rest on a bench in the shade of the
Cross Memorial and look out through the heat shimmer
at the warped reflections and glare of the shop windows.
Near me there are a dozen bleached wreaths, forgotten
remembrance, and a brass list of the fallen

An unexpected light blinds and infects
My thoughts turn sinuous, like cordage,
chunky ropes stretching sailboat cloth
surfing the pitch and yaw
a tonnage of waves sinking, rising

Someone's daughter carves
dirty curves sunwards, venus star
Perceptions shudder, smack into me
Rolling elements transubstantiate
lump together
an embryo is forged

I am implanted, corrupted
maybe I always yearned to be this way

you will need imagination
you must sidestep, explore other worlds
You will get tired, lose the thread

The child drinks my blood
always thirsty
taxing
but I love my child

A disease
at last
now, I am human



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