AN INDIVIDUAL LEAVES ALL OF HIS KEYS IN A MIRRORED VALET BOX ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE CONTINENT AND THEN RETURNS HOME WITHOUT THEM.

when the lightning comes calling
in the not quite summer nights
I want to stand beneath it
and write lines in the flash

not knowing the planets from the stars
my less than perfect astronomy
tells me everything is stationary

it is only I that moves
not the breeze
for it is my moving that defines the breeze

perfect temperatures are perplexing
as one tempts the ions
to divine you a lightning rod
either tonight
or every other instance of your life

screen doors serenade you to relinquish the evening
relinquish something of yourself
your heritage
a construction
or some refracted antique semblance of it

this is not so much the house I grew up in
but rather perhaps the house I half matured in

versus the house I live in now
the house within I grew comfortable with abdication

[VALET BOX, KEYS - performance/sculpture]

2014