The History of the World

There are soft things to reveal
in the cold light. Let all the chums
with their cordage and their sparks
become hollow as the mistaken identities
of passersby. In the event of "hello"
bombard the banks of the icy river
with wan hands slapping where the water
laps. Vivid pearl at the end of a purple
stick. Cracking the surface for air enough
to breathe. Let all these tendrils of the
metropolis lead us into the swampy now.
Future in the medicine chest, heart
thumping under ribs, body becoming a
mechanism of delight. I'll shoulder
the escape with a turn of the knob,
entering my home just in time to stare
back at an empty room. All the details
add up to a life lived, rocking in time
to the prim lunge of my delights.