A contemporary poem about the way the body misreads, using a concrete image system, a pressured turn and a restrained open ending.
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My body reads the locked door as invitation. It reads the raised voice as weather. It reads departure in the angle of a shoulder. Years pass before the translation improves. Now I pause at the threshold. The room does not change. I do.
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A thing without a practical name resists ownership and remains open to a less instrumental way of seeing.
A contemporary poem about two things stay down, using a concrete image system, a pressured turn and a restrained open ending.
A contemporary poem about what holds between us, using a concrete image system, a pressured turn and a restrained open ending.
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