Famous Reporter # 33, poetry: Henry Sheerwater

Famous Reporter # 33

HENRY SHEERWATER

    At new moon

i am stilled by doubt

          not idling like the machine at traffic lights

                    waiting on compulsion

          nor held taut with urgent messages

                    like the power lines

          and not anxiously shouting, No!

                    like that high brick wall.

i look out through glass

          across the street

                    to stiffly swinging insects levering clay

                    onto the back of a centipede

                    tended by distant bipedal scurryings,

          and i am still.

i am

          the brown crisp of unbelief

                    curling in a gutter,

          the dusky orange ephemera

                    on high grey cloud,

          the slim horns of silvery dilemma

                    lagging behind a late sun

                    and suspended in a puddle.

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