Efforts at the Confounding
  Tyler Gabrysh

To lie on this shed would be so much easier.

To say I could resolve the confounding burdens
and synchronize the difficult frequencies.

To believe this impunity from mood
and that pretext for another karma.

To ascribe you as: woman,
as if a vessel or the earth
out of caressing wonderment
and bedeviled astonishment.

To rise on this shed,
inching closer to what bogs down;
the thick grey bristles
washing out the sky, arming the clouds.

To feel the blowing rain;
its vague army of droplets
wearing away like a passing goosestep.

To believe self-correction is possible
and to remember the remedy of yesterday.

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