8-Pack

Stolid

white-knuckling the blacktop
with retching arpeggios
lining your eardrum
like a myelin sheath:

your teeth clench patience
but you are never nervous;

your words speak wisdom
far beyond their purpose.

And the way you spin smiles
from your “Hey”
is pure gold
brushing grains
from beneath anxiety

Your voice is quick
and certain piety
to a mind
locked and loaded.

And though you present yourself
a lowly reporter
your eyes are not hidden by your frames:

the names of your disguise
un-aimed to the skies

as you pass unassuming
among the ordinary
through crowds
under arches
over man.

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