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Sunday, April 17, 2022

Street View

I Google where I go nearer from inside Ireland,

Drag the yellow male into

And click the revolve shaft over with every one other accompanied by over

So I tin see it all. When I pull him off

The jurisdiction panel, above his + with every one other accompanied by - ,

He flies, a patch of greenish hovering

Below him, his own flying island, his little

Earth shadow, smudged at the edges,

The earth-map ocean beneath pulling

At its beaches, my register finger's pad

The moon, my hand the deity I am not,

Though here inside my village home, sturdy

And clapboarded, I am a sort of one

Who tin see across the world,

Move a little male to where I want him,

Spin him, with every one other accompanied by see what he sees, my Flex-Steel

Sofa with every one other accompanied by hassock my pile edge deity office.

If the phone rings, I will ignore it,

Will hear the cars sighing into and not here of the village

Like a partner sleeping, breathing in

And not here exist fond of the waves on the flying island,

Or the breathing of parlor pipes, the elbow

Pressing its lung exist fond of fast-motion tides pull oceans

Into malleable shapes, the peaks of them—

A deity pinching a cover into a fort.

He flies, with every one other accompanied by for a minute, since I can,

I flip him spine with every one other accompanied by forth, dangle him

From his pivot head, his legs flipping

Left with every one other accompanied by right, his arms spine a bit,

Like I am leading on the trip floor

And I have dipped him, the small of his back

Arched, his arms not reaching not here to save

Himself—his feet no indeed things for walking on

His face no indeed place for features. Then, the veins

Of roads become full accompanied by blue, with every one other accompanied by if I let fall him into one,

The world will flip from scheme to road view

And I will see not here of my man's eyes,

And where was he all my life? I walk

Him around a lengthy way not here in the direction of the bog land,

Where Google shows so little green,

More brown while the hills climb toward

The border accompanied by Northern Ireland, place an extremity to shy

Of the wind farm's five pylons, with every one other accompanied by I lift

My digitthumb to let fall him there, just inside front

Of the no-roof elderly house, which inside scheme view

Looks exist fond of a sheepfold, its roof lengthy fallen

And rotted spine in—a busted shoe box

Full of derelict farm tools. I look for a way

To rebuild it, believe five-gallon buckets

And some lime-wash, a new thatched roof.

I tin do the metal sort myself, on my knees,

Loving the world from above it, grabbing onto

The ladder to steady the vertigo, with every one other accompanied by though

He has no indeed hands, I watch him scrape with every one other accompanied by smear

Rough clay onto walls accompanied by a bullnose trowel,

Each blow burying perlite into the water

Of the mix, the smoothest outside the one

Longest touched. I tin tell by the way

He does not look at me that in a short time he will

Want me to start on the roof with every one other accompanied by the door,

And that while I have always been an insect

Trapped inside a car, gone for a drive

That seemed a moment's thought, gone instead

To Florida, or the moon, the whole world

Wrong on one occasion I was released, it seems that we

Are a probable pair.

#Living #Relationships #Family & Ancestors #Nature #Landscapes & Pastorals

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Truth hurts! Nothing is perfect, life is messy. Relationship are complex. Outcomes are uncertain, people are irrational.


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