cate peebles
Wherewithal on High-wire
Forget the solar interior & Euclid’s
laws of convergence. Say more
about talking to strangers on
Monday, but make the first meeting
in black & white & bled to
match our shadows, scaled exactly
to fit the frame of one negative;
but the spool spilled out & un-
curled down the street among
wet puzzle pieces & a smashed
disco ball & that’s where
our speaking split & we, now
flung, project in Technicolor
& Dolby against the curb &
stop signs, skyward fractals,
our tongues slap wet rotunda.
I botched my line, declined
your offer for a lifestyle & took hold
of the curtain rope. I made my exit
stage up & up & exposed, I rose
to flail among the luminous. Trapeze
without gravity: your voice extends
its sequined bodysuit, refracts
spotlights in pirouette while mine grips
& slips with sweaty palms, propelled
in photosphere. Unstick the fringes
of a fist & snip loose the net
of meridians, I say, swashbuckle
& eject. Come late afternoon &
standing in the stalking sun, black
dress absorbs—a web sunk under
where you have been—where have you
been? I’ve heard you’re still breathing.
Come meet me mid- throttle: I’ve
brought my tightrope & a trampoline.
This Is the Life
Swallowed continent,
stomached circus—
one feline put his claws
on my cheek and all
my teeth turn into lion
heads; my lips, a hoop
of fire. Hips, a loop of ire.
Out there, you are a bucket
on a wave lapping other
waves. See that pony on the
beach? See this pony
on the page? He’s ours
to share, hysterical canter
—hoofed off the
paper and onto this skin,
around and around your
wrists, ecstatic hulas. It’s
just another way to induce
laughter. We are inventions,
not discoveries. You, who
move as I move—my friend,
who I have yet to meet.
