I wrote a disorganized sort of poemlike thing because of the autumn air. it is not as edited as it could be, but i liked it well enough.

I was probably 15 or 16 the first high school football game I went to,
in my rural u.s. town.
69 degrees Fahrenheit, 81% humidity, 10 mph wind.
The cold air as it settled thickly–

I did enjoy the games, but even more, I enjoyed the marching band,
how can you describe the sound of five people drumming in unison?
how can you describe the horns coming in at just the right time?
how can you describe synchronized, stylized diagonal, careful criss-cross stepping?
how can you describe the way people I knew, my friends, somehow made this much greater, more rhythm-holy thing happen?

–settled thickly on my friends when I saw them just afterward,
sweating, steaming, proving their vividity against the autumn air.
I was probably 15 or 16 when I first fell in love.

A little love for the people of your country can make you a fascist,
a lot of love for the people of your country can make you a proletarian internationalist.

And it was there I first learned to move among the crowds, stirring conversations,
testing out poses, physical and conversational,
swimming through the masses in the stands and by the concession booth,
gathering opinions, building the party.

in a different, more jaggedly academic city,
I would go dancing at 18, looking for someone or something,
someone proving their vividity in the heat of their skin, the
enthusiasm of their flowing poses against the coldness of the brisk-chilly pop dance music,
against the autumn and winter-hinted air.

I wanted to see god again, or whoever it was who arrived at halftime each game,
I wanted to hug someone, steaming and cold at once.

In the dim lights of the dance hall, I went looking for you.
for now we see only darkly, as through a veil,
the features outlined but indistinct.

I am still in love with your synchronization,
My heart still gets chilly-hot-excited tense when I see you.

I am still building the party,
I am still stirring through the masses,
still blessed to witness humanity in its genius.
I am still in love.
for now we see but dimly,
but one day we shall see face to face.

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