(Sunday) 18 August, 2013

Tuesday August 20, 2013 § Leave a comment

today has been one of endless transactions
without ever becoming fully complex, only growing
less lucid in it’s precisions –

not the same thing, at all.

& even now, at a little after seven, the day’s
persistent low heat is reserved in the same senses,
received like one explanation too far, the soul having made
explicit what before felt only

a gentle (& non-binding) agreement between confederates.

& later, how strange, she sd,

that the heart (I’m paraphrasing) could be
so muffled by traffic, so much as our fictions
mute as the dawn
& I replied, and today of all days, on this, the historically
most religious of all days, I meant

those deceptions, & she stopped, & the traffic continued

& I imagined her saying the same words I imagined her saying,
only without me
& found I could not, though not because it can have been difficult,
if I’d tried, if she had


Comments are closed.

What’s this?

You are currently reading (Sunday) 18 August, 2013 at .


%d bloggers like this: