Be large with those small fears. The whole sky
has fallen on you and all you can do about it is
shout, dragging your fear-ettes by their pinked ears.
They dance a number now: consequence without
sequence. Lovingly broadminded in their
realization and ruin, expert at the parting shot.
Not so small after all, we micro to
macro, swelling to the horror shows
lifted from the sly ways of life.
You, both scorched and shining in the terror
of the equivocal moment, its box of cheeky
logics rattling cold certainties out of bounds
and into the plaits of a girl’s desirous ends.
A little debauched, the flirt in a freckling,
wondering spun to falling comes to this
pert contract of a paradox: saying things
because they will do no good, ringing change
in frumpy mono-determination, fruity and fruitless.
Exploded out of shelter, the tides come roaring in.
Let in the hoarse Cassandras and the dull pain of the
storyteller. You’ve needed those eyes all along.
We thought them disconcerting at first,
but it’s the only way. You live here now
having exchanged etiquette for energy.
Don’t be clever, don’t be shy! Participate today.
Yesterday you say everything for their own sake,
and soon enough, tomorrow, you learn a lot from them.
