The Drowning Gull 1 - Page 20

On Mad River

by Jake Sheff

For my daughter, Madeleine

I resist the camouflaging brought on

by daily, metallic choices

about faith in God and calibre,

defining the incessancy of love

with political parties behind schedule

relative to the moon.

But as internal and broadband

as spiritus mundi

can get, I practically beg to

individualize without

losing sex, or ball-bearings

that sleeve my present,

in-turning and blatantly

united. In pristine

channels that emerge

at daytime, I appear

distracted or relieved

of my hold on

Maddie’s voice and Maddie’s

voices for all her

unwittingly marvelous

complications on their way

and departing, projecting

my nervousness in portions

palatable to the Miami Valley.

distracted or relieved

of my hold on

Maddie’s voice and Maddie’s

voices for all her

unwittingly marvelous

complications on their way

and departing, projecting

my nervousness in portions

palatable to the Miami Valley.

The Drowning Gull

19