The City, an Intersection

By | 1 December 2022


Here we fell among it, the cursed lawn
dappled day: my Voltaren gel caps askew
Medjool pit in the Spanish crown teacup

Cursed in the sense of all lawns – unnatural
monoculture, a steep price for your desires above
the rest (pollinators, winged ones)


We’re in surplus, sprouted mung beans
I’m on a single leg and turning eastwards
colliding at the sky, a pond or hearing the old life

They call it keeping your balance, I call it switching
swapping a tiny blacksmith’s hammer
on a neck for the enclosed, the erupted, on 20th


You watch this spot, the one where I poured
luminous coffee, we discussed the voltage of inter
generational junctions, the past always

contained the object (yours, a pierced-hole lobe)

Mine, a deep gut lurch. I mean, a hook inside but welcomed
digging pits, reaching over state borders
tectonic shifts for the new world

(not a new world at all but we’ll learn the shame, for Leopardi)


I’m calling it: we’ll walk the rest of the way. You told me
how it’s made, but I stuff my face with mountain spinach
all the same. I haven’t worked out this next bit, the cast off

they call it

(the fisherman’s
knitting bible)

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