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Summer 06



Level, Somehow
Peter Frey

Electric, eclectic, soon enough a suspect,
granted a pass, a kick in the ass, to a place
that's far in the past, dodging the blast
was really more luck than skill, but where
there's both way and will the hill will definitely
come to Mohammed, goddammit, they've
scrambled the signal between me and anyone
who understands that the lies of a man are
in reality, in totality, in carnality, a search
for some kind of truth, or perpetual youth,
whichever comes first. Itís the worst possible
path, but life is like that, more fiction than
fact, halfway between a hat in the hand and
a brass band homecoming, working on running
but too tired to try for that place in the sky,
trapped between the seats and the screen, the
seer and seen, the has and the been, the where
and the when. But hey, itís all a romp in the hall,
or some version of same, a game, the search
for a name to call a ball that bounces funny,
physics, not fault, momentum and gravity,
drill like a cavity into the enamel of
perception, pick a direction, a connection,
an erection, an ejection, some path to perfection
that no man alive can walk and live to talk
about. The battle's a rout, with entropy defeating
evil, inertia beats the devil, and in the end,
it all comes out level, somehow.

Peter Frey spends his days writing about cars for newspapers and magazines. When the muse takes him, it's usually while flying from one assignment to another, and "Level, Somehow" is part of a collection in progress titled Poetry on Planes.