All lives arrive in a world of new things, hungry stares, happy secret daydreams.
Then some twenty years on come father’s bloodthings
& the worms of your mother.
We send entire summers off to slumber. We eat them, one full fist of thunder. We do.
We write our names on placemats, on paper, on any reachable surface of the earth.
I write my name like I chose it, myself, one dumb morning before birth.
Joshua, the open-ended answer.
Joshua, the unshakable candor, please tell me how to proceed through an hour…
- Nightly Nonsense, September, 2 thousand 9
