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Month: August 2011

a ferment

The sound this would make

if we all started talking at once, singing
at once and moving topheavy around my ex spaces,
standing on each other’s shoulders and arguing and laughing,
ducking under the doors or lurking behind the drapery with dull eyeache and muted curse,
watching the night dwindle until the next dash to the blue bowl, every morning

noon, night as a single fragrant epistle

Suppurated verse trotted out as if from colonic irrigation,
speaking our own name in novel form,
or longhanded vanities in which the principles are flattered and exaggerated
and then drowned in the small storm of the toilet
only to wake in the belly of a turd
an assembled wake, from the parts of the bifurcation
because there must be some thing in us to save us

The sound this would make

It would sound like a war
in love with it’s component battles, sentiment dulling the ulcers.
How we still love the war