Sunday, November 18, 2012

The sobbing frogs, the definite articles

The sobbing frogs, the definite articles
that litter the verse, the fictive libraries
and foreign grammars. I'm in a labyrinth
without a map, the words no longer words

and sounds no longer sounds. Lover, I can't
make sense of anything because I don't
want to. The moment that I distinguish
between subject and object I seem lost

in a doomed argument. The whispered bugs
and napping birds, the sleeping trees allow
my heart a thought. I observe the attitudes

of grass and water, of the burning lamp
in the little window. She moves without name
in the darkness of a forgotten language.

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