Pursuit

Bird-wrought dawn, bed's edge
let me leave with you
my few aspirations.

Riot of rustle of sheets, rest sweet.
First coffee, next cigarette,
a toast to smoke, white mink
cloaking my shoulders.

Subversive joy of a broken heart, salt wallow—
here's to the suffering my father predicted.
Ah if he only knew
how beautiful

pain & ecstasy,
as Christoph says, what a pair—

morning horoscope and comic strip,
narco smell of gasoline
at the Esso, iridescent
fumes liquid blue.

Oh dumpy man whistling like happiness itself
past my car window—
keep it up, buddy
I follow.

Copyright © 2005 Sarah Sloat All rights reserved
from West Branch
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission