Quiet Life
I spent the last year avoiding people who announce the forms they write in. My life calmed. Became less try-hard. Son, I want that for you— A careful economy of sound decisions
I spent the last year avoiding people who announce the forms they write in. My life calmed. Became less try-hard. Son, I want that for you— A careful economy of sound decisions
Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence….
Translated by Carolyn Forché This is the sign for “human”and this is the sign for “god.”This is the thought that life actuallylies outside the one who lives it—yes,that life would continue even if we did notdo so, as if it werea large tenement where some movein and others move out. I’m walkingthrough the rooms on…
Translated by Carolyn Forché The curtain moved gently,dawn spilled milk over the city.I never saw you again like that.
On the second day, light; on the third, water,then the fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, etcetera,until you come to the lesson-centered dayyou see the Milky Way as the downy drink of morning. You’re ever aware of the sharedterror of the shy kids souring the airin the classroom. The globe spins dailyas you climb out of your…
Paragraph means “to write beside.” I sit beside myself, writing. I sit beside my brother’s lungs, listening to the hissing oxygen tank he also sits beside, transcribing his story of breath: scraping, wet, sticky, low. I write beside his slow strangling, struggling to inhale even when he is sitting still. Even when he runs out…
For Christian You know it hadn’t a drop to do with loveexcept that if I showed you howsalt boiled on each winding stairback into that Baudelaireancellar eaved in velvet,your ear might love mine more for it. Surely I’d gone partly madbut can it have been madness if it yieldeda sound like a fruit spasming its…
From Look at This Blue Your palms know where to go. What they imagine leads you. Everything we muster moves us along, like water mirroring itself remembers where to flow, how to go there. In the dream you follow, in the dream we fly over all of this direness float….
six meters away from a charnel bike you lie with closed lids beneath maw of atmosphere, blessing a forest of gravel, helmet on and face up. three of the rubberneckers on 999 calls, and by your brown body, the towers of people living out a dreamers’ ending of others’ displacement, where smoke…
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