Summer/Fall 1997 • Vol. XIX No. 3/4 PoetryJuly 1, 1997 |

So Sure of Nowhere Buying Times to Come

1. I understood that there must have been. And then the two folds of this world. Towards us, thus marking time in time. A gaping hole: the yes suspended in the amniotic sac: the end. That there must have been. That there might have been. 2. I understood then, in the intersection. At the heart of the cross, in the traffic jam. No matter that the light had changed. The long mechanical howls going up from the gridlock. As if a stairway had collapsed, and we, each with our single destination at the core, there inside the car— (the point-awaiting-us now beating at the core), (beating above the hum, mid-air, mid-car, yet wrapped by the ticking,  honking shell)— (by the shell of measurement, by the dream of passage)—as if we were the rungs, the individual upward-going steps, now crumbled in a heap down here, having-forgotten, each, the place we naturally once held, there in that runged and buoyant upwardness … Each with our right measurement of

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