A wink from a stranger is one way
to bring my breath and thought back into a kind of focus
that might better be characterized
as a kind of acceptance of chaos, a letting go
into a place where the frames fall off all the paintings
and even my fictions digress into endless outward spirals.
The page is always too deep,
the history always right over those trees.
There are other ways such as a sneeze
or an orgasm or a good long drink or a point in conversation where
my interlocutor and I are on the same proverbial page
of the vast and immeasurable text that we seem to be both reading
and writing, and in that moment, we really care who says what next
and why—and how!
Look, somewhere along the line, you accept
that the song on the radio is one you love,
one you know all the lyrics to, one that is going to work on you
and your recollection for the next few minutes no matter what.
“You said watch my head about it.”
It’s the Chariot, baby, it’s the Chariot, it’s the Chariot
of Now. And while one way in is a wink,
and another is hard word or constant prayer or meditation,
yet another is just giving up and moving on, meaning,
when the singer himself forgets the lyrics, you realize
that there is still something to say,
still the rhythm to keep.
