i do not know how to
pronounce your name.
perhaps i’ve before said this
to you. perhaps
my mind warbles
like song bird.
wouldn’t that be
a kindness, an
aspiration?
a warbling mind,
hollow bone’d and
fluttering. oh mind,
a procession
of recession.
desire,
a New Orleans second
line funeral sashay.
though
my forest is light
on trees, the trees
that exist, well,
they are limbed,
lithe, erotic
and wobbling odd.
shy
in their bombastic breakdance,
gusted and
starving.
forgive me
my riddling tongue.
i write as i am in need
of label and
branding help
for the body i borrow
and operate,
and wonder, might
you know of any
practitioners
of these dark arts?
hello, hi.
i don’t know how
to pronounce your name.
what might i be
able to wrap my mouth
around?
how might i
wield all this color and
sound?
the thoughts
that log jam in the
snow melt mind?
billions,
all these people.
silkworm spools,
proliferations of
communication.
still,
it feels so impossible
to connect.
underground it is
quiet. floating, up
there, it is
quiet.
zakschafer.com 