Where do we stand as I look to the left
and forward? Where is when in this exchange
between place and race, which like hooves cleft
leaves a gap, a space, between strong and strange:
And unites them too, as the legs of a goat
can make it climb the dewy mountainous
vistas of the tropics without a thought
to the gorgeous verdure or the horror
of domestication – some might say it's
a self-made and self-making process,
explained by natural inclination –
which is, quite frankly, pure, utter nonsense:
But we're here now, I guess, looking left, back
bent if not broken under heart attack.

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