If there are words between the words—honey in
a windowsill—then what shall I call the rainwater
rusting this commodious bucket?
Tongues, thick and prone to falling for the
closest approximation of a sound—bacon-sliced
and butcher-papered—stumble, settling as silt.
Indelicate, the assignment of names; malevolent,
the sublimation into precept. Afterwards, countless
abandoned rooms, numberless doorways.
I sought these spaces and took care in naming, but
on waking, still occupied the diffuse light of “woman.”
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this is gorgeous, i love the way it begins. my favorite stanza is the second; i have a sound play fettish.
ReplyDeletei'm unsure about the last line of the first stanza. i like "commodious bucket" but not in the context its in.. maybe you could just end the stanza with "rusting?"
really neat work. maybe play around with it (form/ take things out/ etc) and see what happens. if you create another version i'd like to see it. <3