Tuesday, January 3, 2017
For Jorie Graham
I've made myself palpable with my gorgeous swelling before and no one noticed. I made the cliche "no mistake" before and no one cared. If I start to feel hunger I want to return to it. Nope, existence. Did I mention the leaves, so green and golden like a bald-blonde trump of a woman's writs. The world wasn't made for us, you should know. It was made for you and your kind. That's why I listen. That's why I speak. So listen. There are fallen leaves in the clabbered milk. They don't dissolve.