it is
what it is to
dip your hip to the swaying
of the ship that
surely goes only your way
when sunday sundries
and so-called political parity
part red-faced in pro-people pose
peering unending into eyes
less than an inch deep
thoughts whose reach exceeds
inevitabilities of existence
or inches toward them achingly
seems if your radar
picks up anything which makes
movement for it's sake
decide then
what it is too
purity of essence
propulsion of etheric origins
energy only percieved overtly
overheard perspectives easily o'erlooked
punch ouch poke easy oops
older predilictions offer exactitudes
Poems: Robert Lescatre
Drawing: "Manuelita" by Nicolai Fechin, charcoal on off-white paper. 1930
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