Seven
Some nerve, some nerve, that summer, to shed your bill on the 1
What does the sun sound like up near its rounds, I wonder
The drummer driving in heavy traffic, on a fast drug, tempted to crash, speeds instead
Does the sun get tempted in defense of itself, to cool our haunts, to flaunt some gone dependency, I mean really, long gone enough to linger like a phony regret or digression prone against regret--
I don't think I've been to Compton, not for comprehension, not for competency, not even for dinner on a full moon Saturday night
Exposition. Self-justification. Shafts of light flung back like spheres from the dash between places and destinations
The day I took off my mask my face was missing for 2 days
If you count to when, backwards, you reach this luck of hats which pass the heat through rhythms and last in every lifetime
The trip home from where I've been makes me pass where I haven't, a numb wave of happiness drum-set in the passenger seat like a sand castle won't come undone where there are people in it
