So first you saw this: Pitch, gumming a two
party wagon wheel—mule. Before the cart
before the cartwheeling wheel. After, mule
suspended in action pose across Sports
Illustrated. See the mule saunter forth:
low smoke oxbowing a manicured maze
of hedges. When a man is made of ghosts
& soot, broken, stuck in a time loop, he’s
a fixed interloper in at least one
dimension. When a man is a concept
made of ash & scholarship, ivory
theses, factually sound arguments
it’s easy to forget he’s been granted
a key that sticks. If/then/when he is ground.
