The Stellar Marine

I have trouble weeding out streets fit to walk on./ In the snow of a recent nor’easterner,/ I come back./ I’m the reluctant customer/ of a bottle of milk and a dime newspaper./ I could always switch/ the throttle to the next phase/a jamboree of poses behind me. Here, in a city that embraces the sea,/day old mail roasts in searing flame/past the bounds of a circumference./ Down to New Bedford,/ where Nor’easterners ,one guesses/ cease in a sump.

I wake to your still presence upon me./I turned when the wind hushed./ I feel myself: heartbeat, hand and feet./They report their fever along my lifeline./I guide them to my recesses,/ these numberless casualties;/in the drenching rain,/we takeeach other hostage, /bound up in a downward gait,/ in which the deepest gusts are tamed./In an absence of rancor,/where sea and sky gust equal/ by our calculations/ of the boundary of the Stellar Marine.

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