Locating the Center
Riley Bowen

The Geocentrists were onto something, 
they just needed to get more specific.

They took in the brown sky separately, 
walked down railroads of mud, up carpet steps. 

They saw their lawns burning.
They ate their dinner slow.

They went upstairs for a rest,
their eardrums turned wet with tears.

They missed the true center:
Every railroad I cross I check for trains.
There is still the right side of the road 
while we are looking left.

Locating the Center (Prose Poem Version)
Riley Bowen

Imagine a group of geocentrists. There they are, going about their dreary lives. I say dreary partly because no one believes them, and partly because it is sad to be the center of the universe. They are aimless and without joy. Think of the way they move. Imagine them walking on carpet floors, crossing the road, eating their dinner. Imagine their dinner as all brown. The sky too. The water the same. Imagine they go upstairs at night and think “This is it?” or maybe they think “Am I dying?” So disappointing to be the center. So, maybe they are wrong. Imagine they have made a critical error in regards to “the center.” Say you are crossing the train tracks. Imagine the right side of the road while you are looking left. Imagine the geocentrists were close, but not quite. The “center” is the train. Has not happened. There it is behind you. Boarding a ship. Tomorrow.