I'm a fracture to the world.
My camouflage jacket lets me
soak into its swell. The world's swelling
having come fromma runover
by a quick tire, a fast move.
Many revolutions came to that buddy. Good thing
it was moving, too...all that weight from
pressuremachine
too killing to stay still.

           motion gathers dust      everytime
           it has to surface      everytime
           it has to stop      to say

                                            motion

                                                       it loses
           another revolution
                                       bites the motion
           another evolution
                                       fights to lose

                                                                  some people stay in their world
                                                                  yet world continues its stay
                                                                  inside you

On my blinders to periphery
sticks a racing car decal
implying speed and all it's trappings.
I am sponsored
for untitled direction...I am payed
to stayover the naked trees.

                                    who be the adamant protector
                                    of hidden beliefs—Fear, back-ya-luna baby, Fear!
                                    who be the honorary miser
                                    offa sudden despair—

When you've overstepped the boundaries
of taste, goodfortune, and overworking...
what is surrounding
but gobs of but. Already
I've tripped on leftover doom from someone else's
gloom - finds me
very easy...knows me, very well.

Turns into one of ten
most lovely days - acting
as filter
'tween me and separation
me and lot-in-life.
Picked the loveliest day of the year
to come crashing.

           Thrown against a glass life
           I emerge lucidly scraped—like cuts
           acting on impulse—deep inside this method man.

           Can move no more—I try—but
           it follows me—this place to stand—but I
           refuse to tip my hat to it—thinks—it knows me—but I
           am quick to point out—it—does not know—but
           it agrees—and—it laughs—succumbs to faith—
           devils’ spinaret—accusingly serene—but I
           am it—follows me—and I
           can’t seem—to lose its trail
           what follows you—waits for you

Trying to have a nice day
and in one fell swoop
thundercloud signs lease over your head
while fecalcarpet woofs below you.

           What goes around stays there
           until you move it.

I'm trying to understand karma
as the rain wipes away my face.
I get into its head while my body
drowns in the everyday—pouring pouring, the everyday
pours and bores and pours.

Raindrops form a brick wall
a raindrop wall around me—keeps me wet
inna drought—when things go easy, I summon up
a bit o'dat ole remote distraction...rain
reminds me what reason
is—was—mine—supposed to be

in this sunny withdrawal—I let myself say
I understand karma
as my coat
melts inna wall of rain.

Edwin Torres Author Page

Pub. May 2000