This poem is taken from Stand 215, 15(3) October - November 2017.

Kevin King Poem
The Walk, an Application of Geometry at Punta Cana
 
Rust never sleeps, Neil Young sings.
But steel does—my son has just informed me  
that Superman also goes to bed at night.   

And I nod, thinking that Newton was right,
that the whole edifice of knowledge
is built like that, in increments,

finding ‘a smoother pebble or a prettier shell.’
Was I not on the shoulders of giants this morning,
noticing the existence of a fuckedover walk?   

I mean that in a self-inflicted sense, like hungover.   
It’s the gait of couples the morning after,  
akin to sleepwalking, in disbelief

that lower limbs can move  
one step after the other  
as opposed to in and out—
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