Time and space, sutured together, became my shelter.

Big bang, large and gorgeous in the sky of meanings,
comes in to earth,
and the eyes of the face, soft and human
knows very little
if anything.

  Today is the day,
the recklessness of life

      charges forward,
new whiplashes, new pains;
the otherness of a feeling, transfixed in a serial sadness.

I drove home through Annapolis Maryland, likeminded, youthful,
leaving Karen's that night 
where I had done my digging for sweet female gold.
I made a life--in turn, I made a poem, 
cutting through summer air
in a burgundy Ford Escort; 
free and almost delightfully mindless.
Black man--as conqueror, but still alone.