From Another Other Within, Without

Pimone Triplett

Say your body’s

life-size trip clock

starts in schlep

on the down slope.

Then the long hand

slaloms you steep

as your face tocks

the take of nine-to-five.

It’s just your timing

and mindset that’s semi-

rattled, and everyone

comes to the skit a little

pusillanimous to begin.
What is a kind of

smudgy justice:

the ancestors’ DNA

in full wig effect,

frizzy edges crimped,

oblivious to wind.

Are you really inside

that mirror slice?

Pacing over past

junkets still, a hybrid

hallucination got

stock-carded into

a being strange to be,

like that griffen

who slips so casual

onto someone else’s

map of laughing tropic

locales. Friend, look hard.

Mix. Step out. The center

bit by bit gets beiged.

You are one hundred

percent half-and-half.

In the hemi is the how.