The bits and pieces one
Who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions
I. Allowance
Finding the kitchen empty
or devoid, typed as devious,
deviant, derivative, delegation;
I pause. Finding the kitchen
empty in the mourning
I pour bowls of (throw them in,
rubbish, and think of them, not
again). Allow me the simplest of engagements;
I hope, the kitchen is empty, in the morning.
The night is sound, the field is wet, and you
II. Remember
I am a photograph
of myself, taken years ago and creased
in the corner, shoved between books
and other old papers.
Swallow, your eyes
fall across the room in stitches:
fading from left, right
and farther in
harms and arrowthoughts.
Your black breath
sticks in every stop
and click; thick, with magazine cutout
heads across the floor
in piles watching me and nodding
with breeze. Intent on playing
in twos and reflected lists with printed bullets
aiming
III. Persistence
Four times I've called - the first (one) an apple core - rotten
sweet, dissolving flesh, bugs, insects!
I'll disregard, for taste - the second (two) sticky palms,
together, clasped, grit in the creases. The third, the best
desire (three), just an ice cube. Melting
and fading, pooling and circumscribing further and further.
But the fourth (four), was my favorite.
I. Allowance
Finding the kitchen empty
or devoid, typed as devious,
deviant, derivative, delegation;
I pause. Finding the kitchen
empty in the mourning
I pour bowls of (throw them in,
rubbish, and think of them, not
again). Allow me the simplest of engagements;
I hope, the kitchen is empty, in the morning.
The night is sound, the field is wet, and you
II. Remember
I am a photograph
of myself, taken years ago and creased
in the corner, shoved between books
and other old papers.
Swallow, your eyes
fall across the room in stitches:
fading from left, right
and farther in
harms and arrowthoughts.
Your black breath
sticks in every stop
and click; thick, with magazine cutout
heads across the floor
in piles watching me and nodding
with breeze. Intent on playing
in twos and reflected lists with printed bullets
aiming
III. Persistence
Four times I've called - the first (one) an apple core - rotten
sweet, dissolving flesh, bugs, insects!
I'll disregard, for taste - the second (two) sticky palms,
together, clasped, grit in the creases. The third, the best
desire (three), just an ice cube. Melting
and fading, pooling and circumscribing further and further.
But the fourth (four), was my favorite.