Monday, March 2, 2009
I will sleep this away as with all illnesses. I will allow him to reside in my fever dreams: the smallest space available. Maybe it's best that most of what happens between us resides in the internal world; I am watching the snow fall through the sliver of window not covered by curtain and this is how he must view me: through the smallest space available. I could be the world's sleepiest escapist. These words will meet a violent end, the way Robby is writing the book that cannot be carried, the way I change my poems to white ink. All I have to offer is my silenced ego. I do not want ships in bottles because they deserve more.