post-menopausal thesis
become an old woman
grow my teeth
long and yellow brush them a
hundred
strokes a day I remember something
yet
I don’t know what it was I’ll wait
and it will come back round the sun
of my intentions blazes
still
there are no answers for the swag of queries
gathered up in dining rooms in halls of
residence
on pillows in bars cars riding late on trains
why
bother it will all be a choice between
the ash and compost
soon
the ash and compost don't make a bad mix either ... a little lime and yll get through the clay
ReplyDeleteI quite like the idea of coming back as a black russian, still dressed for where I forgot to go.
ReplyDeleteWill you be smoking a Sobranie.
DeleteIN THE YEAR 2666
ReplyDeletefor Roberto Bolaño
After three wrong turns, a tractor and a lie
you're at the House of Vanished Writers
after all, it was always your destination
you park your unreviewed car and go right in
sitting and waiting, smoking and watching
Joe, the Indian, who never could get started
Sophia, who once was beautiful, great shorts
no power to stay long enough on the page
Fred, whose fiction fried like a skillet, killed it
and you, who are merely visiting, get a key
a towel and the schedule of daily readings
who are these happy people you are thinking
why do they look at me like that, one part pen
one part the next event, one part is wind
where did all the vanished writers go
when did they write their perfect poems
who said they'd had enough and could leave
your room has a limited view of the forest
it's possible the birds might sing there again
second seating meal is vegetable soup with bread
dessert is an autumn ice cream you don't remember
afterwards the word games and the music upset you.
Mr S you have made me swoon...
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