SIENE MICHELLE PALIZZI
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She Loves the First Man

He packed his luggage and unpacked it in the past
With me
And we made love 
At an irregular rhythm 
He spoke to me in my language
And another language as well
Mama Mia he said of the Italian woman
She wore no makeup to correct her dark circles
Wore her nails natural for him
She was a royal figure to him in the past
And she was on her way this time
Because he believed in her
And she believed in him
She saw him in tuxedo most of the time
Out of the corner of her eye
They were discreet about their private affairs
Only to be hot with one another
Sexual beings they were
Looking at the world with the same eye
With common sense
With reason
With an abode of sanity in the midst of their bellies
He fought for mankind as a servant
To something greater
And he gave up his Christian faith
For that of another much older passion
Not of wine and wafer
But of sapphires and pearls
For the reality sphere & the magical earth
Belonged to them
Travelers through the ages
And passages of time
Two gods who were not exactly gods
But leaders of men and women
Lovers of children and animals
Kind to nature
Friends with liberty
Passionate about justice
Reminding each other when aloneness was around them
Because knowledge was scarce
Of Satan
Denzel approved them for marriage
So the First Man took her in her common life
And brought her poetry before others
Also showed off her darkness and her lightness to the watchers
His figure and her figure this time were soft
Their hearts hardened with hickory
The roots and branches tied to the Tree of Life
Death was not something they escaped
But something they evaded
Through destiny
And peril was the finale of their enemies
As First Man he launched a fight against the irregular heartbeat
Of mankind
Offering a cure
A prophet himself, neither him or his wife were heeded
The nation landed upside down
Tomorrow they hang a flag for freedom
For the place where they live
As a hope
May it spread from their home where she, the grey moth resides
She said my epiphany is yours too
Your freedom is mine too
My respect for you is felt in return
Ditto ditto I love you I love you You’re sexy You’re sexy
Your adventure is mine
The black pavement with the white stripe is not our last home
But our last home will stay put
And forge paths for friends and fellows and family
That don’t dismiss us
And while she wants to have the First Man’s baby
She’s only flirting this time
Because they are travelers
With heavy hearted professions
Of little vacation
And miniature joy
But may the First Man and the previous director of all things American
Stand down from time to time
To be passionate about each other
In bed
On Tuesdays
In the wilderness and on the beach
On a date
And over coffee, ABC news and poetry on the landing pad front porch and living room
Every day
Will they mute the microphone
For some privacy
Because aliveness is not bought with voyeurism
But through honest communication
When no one reads your mind
Or sees your living picture
The First Man becomes director now of all things American
And serves the patriots
Vanquishes the enemy while keeping a stronghold of resilience
Towards peace
The question is, will they listen to him or the grey moth
Or will it fold?
Their love story will unfold either way
Upon a sandy beach path
Or a asphalt highway
Or a gravel road
From now on they go together
The hills are mountains
The trees are tall pine
The birds are pterodactyls
The plants are beanstalks
The flags are flown by airplane
The rain goes sideways
The chill is below zero and the monsters freeze overnight
The lion’s mouth is wide open
The earth quits moving and our star sets still
The valor of men follows him
His stars and stripes return
This time they will make it to the new dawn with a scarlet rising
The people’s bones are aching but making it
History etched out before a very broadcast with no vacation coming
But doers raising cain about something important
And leaders following doers
Mimicking love
And embracing the two of them in their silent life
Where they quietly author
To stardust and ebony a tale of soundness
And we can hear it but we can’t hear it but we heard it
We celebrate not with wine or blood but with sweat and tears
And the First Man and his woman
Will write about it
And venture inside their hearts
With spades and diamonds and clubs
To play their cards
She loves the First Man.


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