Cul de Sac, Fourth of July

Source: Tom Handel

 Unpublished. Something due to Dave Alvin and X

Cul de Sac, Fourth of July

Cutting day from day the red scimitar moon
spills
firefly glow, a guttering match
to gather the starlings on the poplar tree,

to sing down needles that shower over bone,
a gown of nettles
on brittle flesh forgetting
the look away that gives each look its own way home.

No one can see his own self alone,
only by
division are we made whole, for when
was Adam loneliest, before or after? After what?

The mirror’s face bent in toroid curve will trap
you in its little bottle
but leave the touch of stars
along your back, the voices whispering

“How far can you run on one borrowed breath?”
“All the way to the moon
& back.” “& what if it was not for you?” “Then
the same save now over smashed bottleglass.”

My scarred knee opens up again even saying this
& bleeds ink anew,
for falling in love is once only
but it will happen again & again.

All gleeful a chrysanthemum falls from the sky;
fireflies ring back
bright constellations thrown askew,
all unknowing of what they are made ,

unknowing the uselessness of their discourse.
A toddler crawling moonfaced over
spent matches
looks up as a bottlerocket shrieks away

& the boys shriek back. O moon rise into
our willed ignorance,
rise into the knife mirroring its bright edge,
shine on fireflies courting their own calling,

shine over spent smoke and the dry heaves
of bent asphalt,
that we may know of what we are made
& still set out to light this dim parade.