Confluence of Great Relevance

Only convulsions most sure of themselves

can register as pulse. We were not all ready

for this recent spate of tears.

Hold me as you would a grape,

the important part lightly, as we

have so accorded

Our Fathers a profile

 generous to the one mass

 beneath God's aviators. I only wish

to be weeningly contemporary.

To become happy and surpass,

--oh! but I was happy once before

and can remember it whenever.

Steady with your watch:

it’s a hard turn. Though we know

exactly where our driveway is,

signs say "This is not a road."

He has brought out the whole of his typos,

a magisterial statement of the times

as they can, and the Day folds

so much into itself, Night arriving after

to gather the bindle prepared for it.

We will start walking

come promise of stopping.

This poem looks at focus, groups,

loose meaning, and takes a bath

in the ice where it slipped.

Soon it will all be nouns

and I a concrete angel’s son.