Cento Before Dinner (from Jack Spicer) II

& so we walked, uneasy, wondering
enough to want to start backward.
I think I'm going to be sick.
The hands unclench, the trembling legs go loose --
what wasn't, what undoes, what will not happen
lost somewhere between Hell & Texas.
Under a sun bright like a broken promise,
the boxers face each other. They pretend
we fell unloved, like frozen fields of snow.
The word is slow & rigid in its pace.
I closed my lying heart against his lips
& sometimes I can almost see
the citizens come out to help the strangers.
What have I lost? The trees were full of birds.
I turn & place my hand upon your groin.
I hear the seagulls call. They're going west;
that gleam like God's own candles in the sun. Nothing
lets beautiful black fingers snap the last one
when I poke my fingers into her. I can see it
from the middle distance of another room:
the dancer that puts birthdays in motion.

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