our preoccupation | gary lundy

i will speak better

when i arrive there.
or somewhere
where tongues are 
untied and given 
slack in order to 
properly tune by 
well designed fork.
you search for
oddities in order
to wrestle out.

fixed equations unlike
normative equilibrium.

you give it up seriously prior to reaching its midpoint 
place intrigued by various shorter stylized as a foot or 
consisting of inexplicable line breaks.

or possibly none
at all. a fact of
simply striking
the edge of a
page. denigrate
what they can't
understand poised
in alarming
discoloration.

where in the world did such a surprising animal come 
from. what might we have said had our language not 
belonged actually to the books we'd read or 
been reading.

done now 
at the least.

---

emaciated

incandescence 
tongue play 
somnolence 
pre lingual in 
foreplay. a voice 
in background 
not unlike talking 
on phone. one 
sided accuracy 
impeding other 
habits of 
language 
usage. 

i would bask in your pheromone productivity 
disavowed impermeable shrink wrapped. 

holding their 
hug past any 
need of excuse 
the consensual 
incursion 
into dream 
manufacture. 

all the while imagination takes a vacation abandoning 
us outside the geographic boundaries once so 
important and agreed upon.

---

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a driving ambition

to push the 
next sentence 
onto the next 
page. even if 
that necessitates 
an otherwise 
superfluous 
wordiness within a 
run on. 

marginal terms of division wrapped in winter apparel. 
spelling encroaches on the rapid flight of compound 
ideation. 

small packs 
able still to 
hold necessities 
of the coming 
day. 

murmurs framed by disparaging self imagination. our 
departure usurps any surprise of others.

we're almost
done with it.

---

it may reduce

to nearsightedness. 
our preoccupation 
with wants 
and needs 
instead of those 
too distant 
even to echo 
clearly. lost 
nights now sleeping 
on or near ocean 
broken by well 
timed fog horns. 

who might have understood the quiet isolated beach 
walks. their violet winter jacket stuffed with balls of 
what must surely be wool. 

all the buttons 
securely sewn on. 
the last thing 
we'd mean to 
do would be 
make you 
uncomfortable 
through poor taste 
in melodic 
intercession. 

salacious imposition of improbable lavender shadows 
mimic light bearing down in timed gaps on the street. 

when you said 
you'd something to 
share they couldn't 
have imagined 
the awaiting 
face slap.

---

---

the lights go out

and those 
before us engage 
in improvised 
dance while 
enjoying cold 
water or hot 
tea coffee. 

we shrug off the platitudinal diatribes slung out at the 
unsuspecting. merely to cover their guilt over mistakes 
made. 

whatever the 
reason no amount 
of volume or paper 
can justify 
that willingness 
to slip in blindness. 
you sleep in and 
may be late for 
work joining others 
in this well 
practiced cycle. 

evidently they don't deserve to live peacefully if their 
accent or skin tone differs from ours. don't believe it.

a cold time of year 
reflected in the 
breakdown of 
communication. 
what after all can 
they be wishing 
for if not an 
alternative physical 
presence.

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Poems ©2023 gary lundy
All Rights Reserved

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The 2023 (Inter)National Poetry Month BeZine Blog Bash

Art: European Robin, pastels, ©2021 Tom Higgins

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