Sunday, January 07, 2007



I left my heart in Phuket, I sang, lifting

from the emerald earth, table tray

stowed before me in obedience

to her voice. Or her boredom, paining

me. That we should have

all this sun but want sleep

and more sleep or a vat of bruised gin

was unbearable. With me

I had no books and no paper

on which to diagram sentences

in Esperanto. I read the air sickness bag

inviting me to advertise

on its side my product

and had to smile. Remind me never

to resist. Remind me

to produce something this year

but not a child,

nothing that will have my eyes

or begin to speak this foreign language.

I thought of you beneath

the zaftig clouds. The sun dropping

though them like a lustrous

bomb. The ganglion of roads running

out into the night. Now

it’s night and looking

for small birds is instructive

but only in rage

and then infinite humility. I’m learning

geography is about loss

and so I keep moving

into closets that never smell like you.

I’m learning not to order

everything but want nothing.

My mouth is empty. The words won’t stay.


Montgomery Maxton said...

i wrote a letter in an airport today

Seph said...

I think I like it best when I mentally mispronounce Phuket rendering it "fuckit."