fiddle sticks

the fool’s game is the one we play
on fiddle sticks, pausing to brush
away anything that can be handled
“tomorrow”; it is
to be wholly unconcerned with
your mode of transport, to misuse its utilities
for sheer pleasure, and then to be aghast when
the engine fails;

it is to see the cracked
bow of the bridge
and draw your cart over it,

an old poem, from a time when I wasn’t necessarily taking care of myself. it’s not true that the body is merely transport for the mind. unfinished, circa 2015. 


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