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Of What Seems Like My Father

I met him in the candy store.

He turned around and smiled at me—

you get the picture.

Yes, we see.

You get the picture.

If it would all please stop for what seems like forever,

I could walk through spanking dark across

America on car tops.

I could walk through spanking dark among

these pharmacies, canyons, and flags.

It’s not unusual to be loved by anyone.

The moon’s got a fake side tonight, but still—

it’s not unusual to be loved by anyone.

Wanting to hear what I don’t want to hear

is hardly possible. And then? I’ll come

to where what’s said here disappears,

is hardly possible. And then? I’ll come

and from an airplane jump

to open his piss-stained chute.

I am leaping like the pieces of a bomb, do you hear me?

Just to open his piss-stained chute?

I’m precisely the quiet of his blind spot’s eye:

part heartache, part affect; part heartache, part arsenal.

Embroidered with cold—

part heartache, part affect; part heartache, part arsenal—

and to this sudden edge of city not a bird.

A border’s bruised clarity, an ocean an ocean.

Try closing your eyes with your eyes closed.

from Necessary StrangerFind more by Graham Foust at the library

Copyright © 2007 Graham Foust
Used with the permission of Flood Editions.

Published in Graham Foust Poems

This program is supported in part by a grant from the Idaho Humanities Council, a State-based program of the National Endowment for the Humanities.

Any views, findings, conclusions, or recommendations expressed in this (publication, website, exhibit, etc.) do not necessarily represent those of the Idaho Humanities Council or the National Endowment for the Humanities.

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