Thursday, April 16, 2020

loose translation

I always leave the party so lucid
never drenched in it/who’s 
cleaning up
even my bulletin board is earnest

woke up from a big [party]
no memory but will write
it down on a paper 
towel, who’s 

to walk out on my mind
into the dirty world
free of consequence

starting to write
starting to sprout
starting to be
an old, hourly way
this place at 1, 2, 3 pm

starting to think, 
theoretically, about
how the cowboy said
never go to your room
in the daytime

the birdsongs
from the wings
the theater 
of the livelong day

the way its all moving 
the wind 

warbling the rosebush
petting my curtains
I’m blaming everything
on the wind today, everything!
its clinging outfit

I am the snowcap 
of mountain 1a

empathy measured
in obvious veins
the look of my bed 
[the stacked edge]
has me hungry for 
another character

I once played a lost boy
and now

my minds? been gone
a vagabond, she visits 

phone to feel party

as for the sun
it’s earlier across the street
working for them like
a good oven, in circles
I move my chair to chase it
they throw balls through its rays