1)
I Will Not Stop Until I Have Written Everything I Know
There are wolves
in the wallpaper,
a dead dog outside in the road.
I broke
a glass
I spoke
too fast.
A woman is singing about her life,
and there are balloons in the sky,
strings dangling,
free-floating,
dead.
I cannot go to work today,
as I have not slept.
There are balloons
in the wallpaper,
a dead woman outside in the road.
I broke
a fast
I spoke
to glass.
A dog is singing about its life,
and there are wolves in the sky,
strings dangling,
free-floating,
dead.
I will not go to work again,
and I will not stop until I have written everything
I know.
2)
St. Michael’s Maternity Hospital, Alone.
Spain, and sperm-white
Calamares. A high
sun and you, reciting
Chekhov. Now
the private room,
and the book
an unopened package.
Recklessness
carried me here.
Spanish trains have two
decks. Descending,
I did not look back.
Alcalá de Henares,
full of grey, stunted
trees, the main square
a theatre in autumn.
“We should,” you said,
and I laughed.
“Buy me calamares,
read me Chekhov,
and we’ll see.”
3)
summit embrace
an hour’s climb
the sun swallows your face
lean against Mediterranean stone
eyes hold birds aloft
shock of summer rain
our sudden unrehearsed selves
sound of stones
as our quiet hurts
fall
I Will Not Stop Until I Have Written Everything I Know
There are wolves
in the wallpaper,
a dead dog outside in the road.
I broke
a glass
I spoke
too fast.
A woman is singing about her life,
and there are balloons in the sky,
strings dangling,
free-floating,
dead.
I cannot go to work today,
as I have not slept.
There are balloons
in the wallpaper,
a dead woman outside in the road.
I broke
a fast
I spoke
to glass.
A dog is singing about its life,
and there are wolves in the sky,
strings dangling,
free-floating,
dead.
I will not go to work again,
and I will not stop until I have written everything
I know.
2)
St. Michael’s Maternity Hospital, Alone.
Spain, and sperm-white
Calamares. A high
sun and you, reciting
Chekhov. Now
the private room,
and the book
an unopened package.
Recklessness
carried me here.
Spanish trains have two
decks. Descending,
I did not look back.
Alcalá de Henares,
full of grey, stunted
trees, the main square
a theatre in autumn.
“We should,” you said,
and I laughed.
“Buy me calamares,
read me Chekhov,
and we’ll see.”
3)
summit embrace
an hour’s climb
the sun swallows your face
lean against Mediterranean stone
eyes hold birds aloft
shock of summer rain
our sudden unrehearsed selves
sound of stones
as our quiet hurts
fall
