we put our letters in a metal box and in the 20th century it was the number one way to communicate in a nonverbal, confidential and intimate fashion. it was only 2020 and the post office and the library and the climate were endangered. i found all my documents. i looked them over and shredded them. i used the shreds for a nest for my endangered species. i am defiant. i will protect them. you cannot locate me in my inbox. my inbox may be convenient but it’s no fun. driving my car helps me calm down, despite a history of accidents, but i may worry about my carbon footprint. you cannot touch anyone anymore in a carefree spirit. you must ask for permission. personal space comes at a high premium. we are self-isolating with our phones. our tablets. our laptops. our desktops. pretty soon we won’t be talking anymore, and the word friends will be incomprehensible. they will be singular. i will be plural. will we ever know a love like that, again?
rise up slicing
wet with ink
with ink dry now
gather up your work
in a bundle
tie with twine
i guess i have been thinking about this honest expression you wrote to me last night
and really worried that i might not be up to addressing it, responding in to it, even reading
it all the way through – which i finally did just now. not so many hours ago you wrote it, and
not so many hours later i read the beginning and purposefully sped through it so the feelings
would not arise. the tough ones. the ones that are the simplest proof (to me) of my love 4 you.
you really opened your eyes and stared at it, didnt you? i mean the relationship, as is, as has
evolved, what has become. i can tell. my question is rhetoric. and its very fucking discouraging,
traumatic and sad, if i look at it one way. the way i see it all when you show me no mercy and
i, in return, show you none back. why? like the argument by the bathroom that must have had
to happen (even though it sucked royally) so that we could be forced to talk about the things
that you very tellingly reminded me we have been brushing over or forgiving or letting slip out of
mind in a patterned way… to be continued
August. I think on Faulkner who somehow captured it for me, or wrapped my sense of it with his own personal papers. He made August more real for me. There may have been others but I cannot remember. I think of Rodin, but only because his first name was August. I won’t have any children, but if I had a boy I might name him the same, for we could nick him – Oggy!
I unearthed the secret message you sent me, when I took all the words away from your letters and left only the punctuation marks and remarks. Now I can connect the dots and see what you mean. I understand you feel connected. And I still love you, too. Maybe some day we can exchange words. I know that meeting up in person is impossible. I would fall unconscious if you touched me. I accidentally rubbed all of the coating off the photograph, so there is nothing left of us now. Was the question mark between the two exclamation points several sentences apart, considered cancelled out? I will keep it circled until you tell me so. It all ended so abruptly. I am under stress and over emphasis. But in places where the words ran off the pages, I lost your meaning, you see, I sponged the table after breakfast and must have washed them out. I must dash away now. I’m really sorry for to have to ask you to repeat yourself. But I need to be sure, or else I will make a fool of myself. Please do not worry anymore. Like light over time, the image is always moving. Changing. Sometimes I wish it was blurry again, because when it’s this clear it can be so sharp it hurts. Do not forget I …
books dissolved into
passages dissolved into
words dissolved into
letters dissolved into
Maybe the greatest blessing i have tonight, are these long moments without you, for i can see you from afar and you’re not dangerous anymore, and my once relentless mind has gone on standby.