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"inserted with a twist & hook into the matrix"

Published onDec 21, 2022

Photo by Nikita Barskov:

Not strange with myself,
I am at odds with
this chair & the warm air
rising from the pavement
outside the window.

Let me sit here, figure out
what I am about.
Nameplate enough for
identity, feet sore
enough for reality.

Trace the field of cosmic dust
in the wake of my creations,
pieces of karma assembled
with invention, inserted with
a twist & hook into the matrix.

Move at steady, measured pace,
look as distance grows between
these fingertips & the objects,
rarely shades of skin, to touch,
tentatively, for some definition.

How swiftly the promise fades
into once-was, leanness grows
into largeness, the mind into
disrepair. Let me sit here,
awhile, looking for my tools.

Eugene Stevenson, son of immigrants, father of expatriates, lives in the mountains of western North Carolina USA. An Eisenhower Fellow, Pushcart Prize nominee & author of the chapbook, The Population of Dreams (Finishing Line Press 2022), his poems have appeared in The Hudson Review, In Parentheses, San Pedro River Review, Third Wednesday, Tipton Poetry Journal, & Washington Square Review among others.





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