begin
begin
it is day zero
and i am trying to hear the insects
a horizon is not distance
but a place becoming
when i was thirsty
i knew what to do
now that i am here
what signs am i to expect?
now that i am here
how will i arrive?
again i listen for the insects
where is their tongue
and do we know how to meet?
it is day zero
perhaps i need a creed
it is the cool underside of stones
it is the talk between water bugs
on the surface of the drainage ditch
it is my cheekbones that hunger
for the itch of spruce
and the shadow of your hand
it is day zero
and i am trying to hear the insects
a horizon is not distance
but a place becoming
when i was thirsty
i knew what to do
now that i am here
what signs am i to expect?
now that i am here
how will i arrive?
again i listen for the insects
where is their tongue
and do we know how to meet?
it is day zero
perhaps i need a creed
it is the cool underside of stones
it is the talk between water bugs
on the surface of the drainage ditch
it is my cheekbones that hunger
for the itch of spruce
and the shadow of your hand
posted by matt iv at 9:23 AM
1 Comments:
Under all this wet cold snow it will be the insects cussing that this could be their last goddam day, and it's a good thing that they have reproduced enough to carry on the species, because, you see...they might freeze in the cold today. If you listen, this may be what you hear.
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