This expedition

means thinking bearables,

scrutinizing each day bouncing at me

like tumbleweeds

in West Texan lifetimes

where faces stand motionless

'round Indian myths

This expedition

involves hitting on life forms

limited to earning their keep

and stuffing themselves with nutrients;

eat-and-shit machines

going on about manic deities

prescribing exactly how they prefer being pleased

This expedition

concerns the tripping and stumbling

through an apparent sameness,

slowly rotating

in the illusive manner of Rileyan keyboard studies

This expedition wears down your pencil

like it wears down your stock of presence

somewhere between here and now,

while you're dangling dangerously

at the end of a suiting opinion

and some hastily scrambled neighborliness

This expedition will eventually slide,

heavy with attitudes and conventions,

into morgues

and beat-up stories for heirs;

fanciful let-ups and lowdown letdowns

in livelihoods caught on tape

Yes, this expedition

tracks down the most recent full-time

in sameness and days

I sport a drafty pencil

through these lulls,

ad hoc and ex tempore

This expedition

has invisibility hanging from trees,

unavoidables seeping through time units

I listen to birds out in the pines

and acknowledge the bony structures

of my hands

The chirping and the fingers

reach some kind of consensus

The morning makes a point

of each measure

in Stuck Inside of Mobile with the Memphis Blues Again,

on repeat down in the living room

I hear the cranes calling

out of the back of my life

Certain aspects move about

in adjacent ideas

My body is the only outfit I need

I turn my back on my behind

without further ado,

and surge ahead

like a surfer's dream,

unfolding