Limitless Again

Aaron Fagan

Deplete the ascent, carving up your arms,

Returning flirty glances with the windows.

A film will attend this so don’t bother,

Efforts dismay affections, and that’s how

It was at the end of a dinner party, we’d

Release a few bad opinions and think we’re

Saved. At least, that’s how I would choose

To remember it, and if a batch of Gods fell

Out of the sky to correct me, then so be it.

I suppose one could do worse than have our

Police feign to assemble in the plaza to patch

Things up in time for the fairest election.

The outliers inside me continue to drown,

Even try desperately to raise their hands

As if trying to vote for an unspecific good.

The only defense I use is my dedication.

I am and I am not and there’s no difference.

However, the other hands are crossing fingers.

Welcome to my anachronism. Dirty, filthy,

Stinking wretch that I am, I am still on time.

That was a joke aimed to please and discomfit.

My design was supposed to make life easier,

But there’s no evidence the host will seat me

In the ballroom filled with investors which

Is totally fine with me, yet not altogether

Unprecedented, seeing as we would just give

The slip to things like this in the old days.

Isn’t there a word for all of this anyway?

The anointed no longer wish to be anointed.

I drove through the night and parked out back.

Walking through the warehouse with a wood

Case full of trains and buses, I go to my bench,

Turn on a light, and pull out the best engine

To disappear from the full-scale world down

Through anonymous tunnels, past trees

And people all meticulously assembled.

With my headlamp tipped to the world, I am

The man in the moon, relentlessly in love.

Aaron Fagan was born in Rochester, New York, in 1973. He is the author of the poetry collections Garage, Echo Train, and A Better Place Is Hard to Find.
Originally published:
April 1, 2018


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