Keegan Lester

2052 Lincoln Park West

For T. M. 

 

 

egrets & wasps.

 

on the couch pretending

 

snow, you like to sleep.

 

the wind: displacing

 

your body shape.

 

you like to sleep listening: who thought to

 

make this the measuring stick

 

makes us pine        the duplicity of lives

 

lived versus lives shown

 

wind between two buildings

 

squeezing snow dreamy into the park

 

& then lake & running

 

as if twenty-year-olds onto a football field,

 

the slate clean of stars.

 

toward whatever exists on.

 

toward the other side of the body

 

of water, far from

 

the horned buildings & the stadium power:

 

the amalgamation of 70,000 people's magic

 

realism on the television set.

 

you twist

 

far from the blinking eye-

 

lids & store fronts.

 

you’re an argyle wire fence

 

& curled up

 

at the bottom

 

you let impossible sneak

 

in & manifest

 

destiny outward

 

as the Gulf of Mexico is also someone

 

else’s sleep & further

 

someone else’s wake.

 

each twinkle twinkle little

 

superfluous shadow growing

 

across the map of your face.

 

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