it is bereft of explanation,
it is beyond consideration.
at this point i don't know where
we is where you am where she says
each of her feet is a lake
she says object she says
obliteration i think obligation,
accidentally intentional, i buy another
round. i take another hit, i
ask another question.
it's not that i want to hear
the answer. i don't even wait for it--
i just watch her face, listen
to the lilt and pull of her voice,
falling intonation, pitching cadence,
the golden leaves at my back,
wind through the fresh shorn trees.
hail mary, thou art all hollows
of this airnoise, thou art this final
flight of steps. thou art my separate
moment--the space of self, the stuff
of autumnal first moon, this equinox,
this november.
thou art the one i fear most.
i touch my elbow. i touch my lips.
i hold my finger to that moment.
i ask again. she has to rephrase herself.
i don't listen i don't wait
for the answer i ask myself
another question
but what will we do
when the oberon runs out
but what will we do
when this season ends,
bleeding yellow
into the tendrils of the next
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how is ny? have you met lou yet!? take a photo with him. i'll want a copy of it.
ReplyDeletewhen are you getting in to dc on thursday?