Assisted Movement Fugue

(A new entry.)

A foot configured
to correct its pigeon. (A new bird.)

Inside the color blue. (A new music,
a new vulnerable.)

Once the tracks
only seemed to happen

in anticipation of the train,

the cane only in anticipation of the sugar.

(A question asked
not long ago like a tombstone, its death date unchiseled.)

A wish.
(A new entry.)

The other foot. A return

to evening walks.
(Each renewing its place as best, as forward.)




Numbered boxes made of thin layers of chalk and light.

Baby birds that didn’t make it.

Individual portions of pudding tossed to the sidewalk
from passing cars.

It’s not enough to wake up, smell the coffee and make
some kind of personal statement concerning awareness.

I do my best to watch my step, but the world is pretty
fucking weird.

It’s like it’s always Christmas morning and I’m unwrapping packages of myself,

hoping to find the one where I’m sexy.

It’s like I’m finally sexy but still sad and afraid.



Slash for the Last Waltz #15

People making love from far away. People making love up close. People making decisions about making love. People being reckless. People singing about making love. Technical difficulties with the recording device. People defending their city. People inviting strangers in. People making love while a war wages on. People dancing in a detached manner as the band plays with intensity. People making love to prove a point. People making love to get it over with.

People making love out of glitter and glue. People making love out of cream cheese and crackers. People making love out of a fifth and a minor third. People selling love to the young and the feeble.

People getting ready.

People getting nervous. People getting physical. Bodies forming lines. People getting some. People getting what they deserve.

Love requires rebirth and a lot of space. The sun rises and sets, making an urban tide of the shadows that the buildings cast. People building. People illuminated from within. Tomorrow love will be good again. People being good.



Glen Armstrong edits a poetry journal called Cruel Garters and has three recent chapbooks: Set List (Bitchin Kitsch), In Stone, and The Most Awkward Silence of All (both by Cruel Garters Press).

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