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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. It’s 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, it’s 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.
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