Squigglers from a long-ago Saturday morning kids' show
are downstreamed by a female bareback rider
trying to recreate the exchanges
that shaped the present moment . . .
postcards from the entrance to a sideshow
do their part
but translation's loopholes
trap the emptiness
which despite your apps hold fast . . .
Something about impermeability . . . and the years
spent woodshedding with a clown . . .
honing one's craft . . . and all that
as if that was the silver bullet missing
or left out of the instructions for dancing . . .
How release carries you across the moat of time . . .
The odyssey's pull . . . its impulsivity . . .
Everything coming together . . . then not . . .
You were here . . . languishing in the inevitable . . .
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| William Laxton |