involution

poetry bits

(?)


the table holding other
items, the bare wall
what is it
did I already forget
what they are
what they mean
& certainly a long time
ago my sparse
English language
is that relief
the mind hits
back at the hoard
& I'm turning into an
astounded little boy again

*

mother sleep

Into your arms, I always get with no remainder.
Would you do me wrong, mother sleep?
I haven’t recalled my dreams for a long time:
might I even forget what had predated them?
If you could, would you give me another birth?