RE: HAPPINESS, IN PURSUIT THEREOF
by C.D. Wright
It is 2005, just before landfall.
Here I am a labyrinth, and I am a mess,
I am located at the corner of Waterway
and Bluff. I need your help. You will find me
to the left of the graveyard, where the trees
grow especially talkative at night,
where fog and alcohol rub off the edge.
We burn to make one another sing;
to stay the lake that it not boil, earth
not rock. We are running on Aztec time,
fifth and final cycle. Eyes switch on/off.
We would be mercurochrome to one another
bee balm or chamomile. We should be concrete,
glass, spandex. We should be digital or,
at least, early. Be ivory-billed. Invisible
except to the most prepared observer.
We will be stardust. Ancient trailings
of nothing. Elapsed breath. No,
we must first be ice. Be nails. Be teeth.