a day breaks in promise then shoves
indecisiveness to the side running squarely into the car passing quickly by. the bees what’s left of them dart from flower to flower. good you are still there sitting in a booth perhaps sketching. they grieve because they know we will miss this place. these moments that accrue of their life invisible inarticulate. and how the wind suddenly picks up to slap your body once again awake. or the anger that grows out of the pain of mistakes and failures. of running out of space where opportunity might have collected its flat rate. for a sentence is always accompanied by a confidence that we simply can’t maintain. when everywhere improvisation carries them out into unexpected rhythmic collisions.
gary lundy has poems that have appeared recently in Cleaver Magazine, In Between Hangovers, The BeZine, Fragmentarily/Meta-Phor(e)/Play, and Vallum. His fifth chapbook, at | with was recently published by Locofo Chaps. each room echoes absence, his second full length book, will be published this fall by FootHills Publishing. He is a retired English professor and queer living in Missoula, Montana.