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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