Godwise with Myopia

Cities’ even horizons continue to elope with their surroundings
and we just tug on our yellowing stockings,
lest we merge into a god,
where we may exquisitely influence every interaction,
or deny others their right of entropy,
or should we prepare for the chance to produce a fascist
as every parent must,
or blur our organisms until we are girdled by time.

Sometimes my body thinks it’s an old man,
the luxury of looping itself around intellectual work,
a natural instinct,
lookaftering wrinkles instead of ripening muscles
where motion carries the stink of a walking stick.
Our bodies have organized asymetrical souls
and we look godwise with myopia.
It’s my [heart] that thumps this chest, and this boxing….
this boxing
craters slowly as thrills wind away in the whorl of a stray tumpet.

-M.J. Sletten