there is nothing but themes to warm to, here,
and there is nowhere back there
but the inevitability of here.
through paralesis, evity.
here,
time slurs and drools and stretches maw
all languid periphery and time,
is forming packs with the ice.
continental accords
all negotiation and consensus on my parchment.
oh yes, it's bright smiles
and dripping hands shake.
to the left now, they are marching together.
they are tracing concentric circles around us,
and right, like clocks in clocks all frozen
because they don't break the ice.
i gaze faces in faces
melvillain without object,
just what's left of dreams
of creamy potatoes and log fires in warm northern pubs.
all slashed and burned and faces in faces in frozen expressions
of all imagined futures of the past.
and i search their eyes for vocabulary:
the names of ship parts and aerial perspective,
the lay-down law and arguments about identity.
swinging right, only i search back.
