print previewback F. DANIEL RZICZNEK
Of Current
Every where is a ceaseless center—
the black SWAT uniforms
(a series of centers colliding)
hustling like magnets through spring snow,
into perpetuity. Behind each ripple,
blood driving in circles—behind
the blood, loud drums: cars
pounding by on an overpass
with me waist-deep underneath.
(No walleyes to show for the morning—
cold as it is, the turbid river, its pulse.)
A high bridge in higher wind:
all of meaning up there going by. 
Of Earth
Of Current
Of Hardship
Of Opposites
Of Religion