Blow Your Own Float

By Andrew Hampton

let me excuse myself, clear my throat and start again 
-it’s kind of strange that anything connects at all: 

-it’s kind of strange that anything connects at all 
a starfish floats out with the tide 
city lights wink off 

gentle sounds: everything soft sounds, soft salt waves, then it turns
gentle sounds: everything soft sounds, soft sodium orange, then it turns 

the starfish drifts back to its rock 
the sun rises on three towers three stories 
-it’s kind of strange that anything connects at all (another dreamy day, another living way) 

-it’s kind of strange that anything connects at all 
-and if the mind isn’t exactly what you want it to be 
-maybe the body will be 

-forgiven for these floating rivers and 
-for these gently floating, gently inconsequential afternoons

-no that’s not what I want to say, what I want to say is that

-shivering fingers paint shivering pictures and 
-it’s kind of strange that anything connects at all (if they paint  anything at all) 

-it’s kind of strange that anything connects at all 
princes and princes 
lines to lines 

thin, cowboyed pretzels 
layered to layered lines 

now layer a castle 
and sing, sling these layering, layered lines 
-it’s kind of strange that anything connects at all (where do things go?  things that don’t connect) 

here there are things that connect 
three pieces three looks 
three looks that don’t, that won’t enclose a space 
look ... and then look again 
three looks don’t, won’t enclose a space 
something escapes and something is refigured