First principles | Holed up in atoms where the curtains are closed | the screen is a little theatre | these actors come and go, live and die, talk | gold or ignorance | fame or wine | toss | shapes of trees or dunes into our eyes, clouds | of dust | To understand, we must leave | Throw a veil of loss | over what was there | make it ours | by forgetting | quickly or slowly and the days won’t lie | wed the change | marry a lion/an ass | carry an ash bouquet | And the most important story? | This is an overview | how we must follow an ancient pattern | disperse | fortunes by acquisition | add | sultry mistakes to our collection | and go back | to a hot world | still fuming | stolen from the forge and the grind of fire | a thick god | grunting and slurping | with fingers of lava, thumbs of rock | drooling islands and peninsulas… || How do they bear their | exits? | By shouting loud, delivering their lines | to drown the silence with a minute sea | Listen | Can you hear breathing? | Can you lay out | when it matters | what you know | so that it | still matters? || Poem, wait, your true reader is coming, I promise you, but this reader? | No

Ponderous ghosts | Children from a kindergarten | wrapped in rainwear, bright yellows and geranium, as the shower | folds the streets into thickets and haze | where will you take my inheritance? | I brought you | a few moments of tenderness among the bones | By becoming steam | it becomes a car | a letter | from a long-lost lover | inkdrop of starlings in a hung, amber dusk | and the trains, the bills, the diplomas and the fuzzy | visions near dawn, they all | flee, seeking asylum from themselves, and we are no different | If I could show you the very last place, or tell you the very last words, would you | stay there? | could you | say them?

 


from the series fleeting pixel (series of 1,000 poems, 2012–2016)