The drawing you gave me
is on the door to the freezer
and I think of you
like 'getting a beer' often --
or when someone mentions conformity.
There are polished stones
in the fridge next to the pickles.


Frost-bitten wall
of crackled, crystallized caramel;
immense, fluorescent,
breathing mass of stoppage,
deliberately picked at, bitten,
mazed cleavage to a Pacific calm.

Perched on the peak of a continent,
head raised to orange vaudeville clouds,
hesitating the leap east,
I'm reminded of Hegel -
I grasp with green swollen fingers
at a crack of ego --
perhaps a grappling hook
and a boost from the moon,
perhaps just patience.

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