I’ve been drinking and now
I’m wondering about this world
So unlike mine from whence
You say you’ve come.
But I think better of asking you,
Like we often think better
Of asking, over dinner,
For the long or short list
Of every unique noise
Uniquely precipitating orgasm:
We usually do think better of this.
My answers are written elsewhere -
Written in brushstrokes
And in blank verse stream of consciousness
On loose papers
More or less neatly stored
In an attending bag
(Or was it a purse? I haven’t noticed).
And there I have my answer:
We write in the same non-form
And our pages are like apples
And abacuses
But this doesn’t worry me.
One of us can eat while the other accounts.
Nothing like me or mine, are you and yours?
But is a key like a lock,
Is a dove like a nest,
Is a star like the void,
Are the teeth like the tongue?
I can’t imagine either
Having seen or done anything
That somehow makes sense
Of the other no matter
How many times
One is inside
Inside
Inside of
Or scraped whilst escaping the bite
Of the other.
Can you imagine?
Of course you can,
My darling
Because your tongue is stinging now
Isn’t it.
