I did promise, didn't I?

 

 

 

i pay attention to all warnings.

Swollen armpit lymph nodes,

mice,

giants,

escaped silver-backs,

the most recently exorcized.

The Holy Ghost.

 

And how quickly they will come

to sort your clothes by the things

that they can wear, from the things

too worn to make sense of

at a distance:

 

jeans with little knee holes

are platoons lost in Laotian

jungles, where you can be lonely

for letters and hot food

or whatever

 

is over the next landscape of

fear. I haven't been happy and

probably never will be again,

understanding that fragrances are

only so, metaphorically. Mention

Chanel no. 5 to mother and

 

she smiles, from spangles,

from osier hampers that holds

tight to dirty clothes. Socks,

some sweatpants; human life wants

to blame the end on the omen

of stacked suitcases.

 

on the picture that fell off the wall in

Georgia in 92. Damn. Like that woman

in a wash of alien crop patterns, this

confusion is. That masculine angle

from some mysterious universe.

Of the strange light that only a

 

delirious farmer saw. Because pride

makes the body too nervous to feel,

even a little bit

lonely.

 

Reviews

[Emily B]

oh god

this sweeps over me in slow motion like the tornado that can't quite decide to move along

agony and ecstasy in mortal words