You’ll find yourself who? by Lawrence Bridges

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You'll find yourself who?
by Lawrence Bridges

Who's there? You'll find yourself early one
morning asked by your handlers to analyze,
using trigonometry, the nature of the structure
where we all find ourselves by daylight.
The load-bearing armatures are chrome,
a nice environment to enrapture with thought,
sweet from a distance, overpowering all trees.
Since I'm given to climbing, I'm adored
by other primates who grip, ascend, and observe
the flat world of forests, somewhere a river,
somewhere an ocean. First feeling, hunger,
second, sex, third, curiosity about the far-a-way,
and forth, fear. I rise from the coma of age
to meaningful fruit, bodies, wonder,
and terror, huddling with loved ones
on the avenues batching the brew of
natural fermentation, waking up clear-
headed to greet the morning, under-
slept with dream's strangers still in distress.
I'm going back to sleep next to my wife
to see if the world there is better
of if I am, inside the chrome planet
that won't stop rotating into troubled dawns.

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