Being alive is mostly fits of distraction-

Chasing tail-ends and paper trails,

kicking anything that rolls

into or out of anything gutter.

The after-dusting-dust that scatters

            is what we’re after-

merely distinguishing from the clutter  

            arrogance + fortitude;

don’t let the mess discourage you.

Just keep sifting,   knowing nothing sticks

forever because there’s tripping

and there’s picking up + there’s that

time your mom made you scrape off all

the hardened boogers smeared on the

wall above your bed   you did

they fell thru the crack   now they’re carpet-

            someone else’s hidden ticket.

Leaving is life’s greatest disruption.

All of a sudden you start trying to save

the path that drops off near your feet,

lined with treetops    screaming,

losing their brains to the wind-

ears born from this singing

hesitate to listen for the subtle calling:

            Jump.

Land on all fours or splatter your insides,

strewn out over rocks-

footprints and bloodstains both wash away,

we grow up boogerwall, then rot.