Theory of Convergence (terza rima)

Theory of Convergence
after Kenneth Patchen

In the footsteps of broken night,
convivial discordance.
Touch a lamppost’s slender height,
touch an arm. Ever since
the walls came crumbling down
and blustered our allegiance
we push that rubble all around.
We build them for each other.
The boiling point of calming down
grows in tornado weather,
scatters our loose vertebrae
in a poorly rendered blender.
We make a fairly rare sorbet,
activist and anarchist
meeting Monday’s breaking day.
Gathered in a loose kiss
the pines in time will soon forget,
I am bothered by our brokenness.
Wrench the punctum’s pirouette
from all observing eyes.
Watch, the streets are getting wet.
With a stomach’s slow surprise,
I drink the gibberish of glib,
leapfrog the sullen compromise,
and with an awkward mock ad lib,
we fly.