you stand just naked as an insect or
a worm on wet and broken pavement, early
in spring and feeling rain as metallic
or stoned mist from monuments all lit
up gold and silver slivers rushing on,
stampeding over: horses, men on their
backs all come falling, flailing and just splash
away in waves that plume like smoke leaked out
between your words—all nonsense now, and drip—
no—soaking tones of wonderment at some
thing simple like the Washington monument
as just a phallic symbol or how planes
look like they’re cars, so i tell you that they
have made an invisible sky-way so that
the Congress members don’t have to get caught
in traffic like the rest of us and you
laugh and look at me to say that you
get it and that you love me, you just laugh
and ask if I feel moths, you, me, a week,
a time, a place, not solid, but still—
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