AFTER THE TALKING
Poems by Lawrence Carradini

It's the jitterings that get me
mostly,
in the back jointless
nest
behind the
knees.

The rumpled stilt skins of my long legged'
youth
now abandoned.
Me?
Making ends
that never.

I go from one same thing to some other.
I go from one (same thing?).
I go from...
I
go.

Jiggle the tank
handle.
This!
This is the last front before exit.

Now, age is the toll
collector.
I cannot run from another star.
The explosion will outstrip me.
The bullet is caught between
my teeth
for one last time.

I am not old.
I am lonely!

I am not going to take this
lying.

One more night and I will have it settled.
One more refrigerator door.
One more outside cat.
One more fluffy at the unbitten end of a candy.

Get out of here, you shadow!