An Appeal

 

Why should all the loose angles offend you
when the vaulted motions reflect the wind?
(I lie in the first jet-stream, swim
in the lens-pitting dust)

when the group's grim possession disarms you
and my attachments curl your skin?
I grumble away from the door,
shedding my sensitive armor.

You have your plays to assume, your plates
of smart brass and sheets of self-treason.
We could frolic in the ripped gale,
mime the young birds' circles.

Our second level bids rain against the glass
we poke our lights through, press our lips against.
They'll build it into windows
if we can't leak in the sweet storm.

Their power folds out of sleek shields, metal
ploughed shrieking from the powerless earth.
Will you go where the bricks glisten,
where the common armies crowd?

We should suck the lightning fire, flash
out of heaven at the ground's cruel wall,
hang on through the pealing clamor
to our beautiful high voltage.

You'll catch me like fog on the sides of mountains
when the elements bend me in sour shapes.
We can become in everything's substance
or wither in the shattering void.