Congruous

by DBLevin

Metronome – swing in any direction.
Sing about icepick fishermen,
woodpeckers slurping dirt,
the wintertime city and the
“slap, slap” of concrete puddles
under unbalanced boot-steps.

A sound like the in-and-out
weaving of a canvas, paint-less.
Then 6 layers of Italian hillside,
or, some thousand outward-facing, criss-crossing,
canvas stitches
painted green and yellow
and pink.

Unstrung and hung in the doorway;
walking through some guys imagination
divided, sideways–
how it feels to wake up inside a dream
and pretend to my mind
I am meant to be inside it.

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