spit polish

a second life to be loved
is astronomical- it baffles,
and clicks return to spit-polish,
and an open garage door and singing
crickets and loudness.

you know time is a fast raffle, and
I ticketed out before I knew riches, I
thought
I had the secret, but
it was static.

in the ends perhaps,
knowing is equivalent to everything;
watering the past and building the
present or future; it's
the same thing, it's what I see
and hear and smell the forest
outside, this is the best, the riches
of propped view, cold drink and
doors open