Monday, November 14, 2016

William Allegrezza

in water

my story is in bones
fortune cracking or
boats slowly turning above rooflines.
when i can,
i watch as rain fills
the ditches with memory.

i could settle with eyes, with
hair out under skies,
with the strings pointing
numbers i cannot sing,
            but i am here with
            toes dangling as driftwood, as
            symbol, trying to build grottos
with story.


i trained early
to be a traveler among the
starts and ends, a
wire walker, so now my voice my
surrounds the circuitry,
and the waves come
into space like dawn.

)it is desirable to
            unbecome myself often(

i trained early
not to move,
so sometimes i imagine your
voice bright orange
and immediately forget.

what other words

with no place or rock for stone,
i have wandered in search of leaves of no
brilliance fallen on bare ground.

The Autumns

the autumns never spoke to
me as to others.

and now
i dream the uncurved
back as my own,
and this sense of flippancy
that i claim rides through
what one says to speak
as fear.

in our section is
every section, a line
pointing into the cosmos
expanding, not stopping
as we do with hope.
what we have said we must.


the sidewalks

marker             moving                        as display

            for the
                        morning air

                        textured words

            as piles that

            i forget to name.

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