Hold on, I wrote something.

Cover Image

Unconsciousness is letting
muffled bedsheet ramblings
about cold soup and black-eyed
sheep explain more than
the sun allows.

Speaking is as useless
as bones; cards
with thank-yous are fillers
for unmouthed words,
unfound words.


Stop telling me I forget. The
lights were off when I last
checked them.

I’m not amnesia, I’m not
without pearl-eyed youth even
if my so-called brainandbody would
like it better that way.

There are
two separate
entities here.


They say packing
is forever, leaving. If the suitcases are
filled with coal-plastic teacups and
black-and-whites, why would we
go elsewhere and still want to remember.

The teacups broke last night, the
black-and-whites fell
out of the train and you, you
still have everything to return to.

I realized.
They say a lot of things.


I sued the government that would not
permit me to change
my address to 41 Wallaby.
I guess I can’t edit
the "where" in I am or
in I have been. But really I
just think the right papers
weren’t signed.

Created: Jul 21, 2010


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