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Dear Spouse & Children or While Driving to Work I’m Simultaneously Contemplating Our Abandonment Issues and Considering Not Coming Home
by Daniel Flosi, January 10th 2023

Perpetually drifting in perpetuity

driven like the parolee

on course, of course

this coarse tumult of the slow lane

on the one lane highway

pulled by the snarling dogs, wild,

though that I’ve leashed, somehow

managed through these snow laden hills

rooftops, treelined, doe-lined, bare and I fear

that I might not be willing

to let it go, that I might just follow

the beasts through to the other side

where I might not come back—

You should know

it’s never about God, sweetheart

unless of course by God you mean loneliness

that muscular veil which keeps us

from knowing each other, tendrilled

cavity, earwig, lotus bloom, You,

who is spit from the moon,

I, who upon having a bad trip

called mom for a ride home,

who upon hearing about the vast

mushrooming of outer space

discovered the same inner distance

sacred space, tickled by

reckless abandon, these nude hills

nippled with cows grazing

papillae of economy, too many

it’s not that I want to leave you

rather, it’s that I want to fish

these coffins and tussle the jackfruit

studded knot lines, it’s just

that I’ve discovered felicity on

this hillside horizon driven as I am,

down the soft valley of thigh

stitched with train tracks of copse

limned pubis, gnashing soil

churning deposits of blade and husk

we used to talk a lot

about the way things used to be

about subtle distinctions between the times

now, though, I rub the backs

of tenement owners as we laugh together

at the tenants cowering, shoulder blades

same as the grenade thrower who

has been (m)othered out of existence

truth is I’m sick of lying awake at night,

dreaming dreams about scratching through

this feather-lined, cloud stained

billows pillaring & columning

stacked like mountains, or at least

looks like from here

and I have nowhere else to go

with one thousand dead hands,

one as useless as the next, I could tell you

how tired I am, how seized by fear,

but I’m afraid you wouldn’t believe it

just know that while I drift, I’m searching

for a way through the mountain façade

& of course I realize that the leash

I’m holding also holds me, leashes two

don’t be fooled, these scars are ancient

and though sewn over hundreds of times

they are also ripe, blistered, all this time

and I’m still trying to hide,

call me Shovelhead, call me Fire Escape,

call me Hide, call me Hull, Mask of Freedom

that trembling you hear is my heart-cave,

echo chamber, gasping for air

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