72. lake ontario oratory
doublespeak's birdbroidery <3
72. July 13, 2010 (last tues.)
That's awful late for a young girl
to be out. Nana, you and my mother
could be cut from the same delicately quilted jib.
i mean, i saw the dove flying out by the cut...
(Where crick meets large mouth
of the lake, full of bass' sandpaper tongues.)
i am the commuter rail dream girl, really
it's safe to be out at 1am picking up the no-
good night shift boy in Boston, no one else
exists under the corrupt funding, embezzled dim
fireflies ~ our street lamps. Out here at camp i sleep
thirteen hours without cat or neighbourly noise
to clue me in to the garbage truck passing
of dawn-- it's an endless biomedical night. The radio
transmitter talks atop microwave, i keep thinking
it's an old answering machine's murmurs, but no
it's the locals, officials, fishers. We are not
in a summer version of The Shining. My line is fleeced!
On the boat i am transfixed by the world's
smallest spider ecosystem installed in the new
down-riggers, too short oars. Let's fish where the birds
are fishing, and tell me again about the prank
sponge cake Nana made, the one with real frosted
kitchen sponges. (We need far fewer words here.)
week11: 1
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