Like a Man without Country

When perturbing the kept redundancies of a country, a gramophone
prevailed surprise bet under slippers. It was a bell parading as
wavering blights, paid for by revolts as brothers slept, it was, so it seemed,
the blanket of a young sun. The decree, capable of hypocrisy within minutes
of winter, was worth chagrin for so much of a miracle and its randy
contradictions against the self, such that Parliament’s vacations were meddling. (Potatoes.)
Whistling trepidation now, amidst the kindling offered blamers, felled stars were men
often complacently, wise from pursuit, hands stopping to cover the stables
set thin, harm finding place as it is the old disk & movie: the jerk store
with a grave commotion coming through the door, as if stables were a
reverse psychology of pageantry, content with warming and perplexing them; the plains
conceived the new Kippers, randy and faltered and allegorically superstitious.

The sea, enough of a story in and of itself, impossible. It would be dark and you would have to have a fever, backed by the posthumous light of a town, as if birthing, as if righted for containment, teacups with dolphins on their backs, deserts forgiving camels as if animals were outright enemies. If your mother taught you then your mother was mine, pointing toward the horses twelve years after instead. Accidental occasion of living things, I’m sorry for the lot. The day brimming over men and women all the same behind the rain another thing fit for nights of small streets, squired reconciliations toward the glad middle of a field made replete with composure.
Amanda Nadelberg (© 2012)