渡辺勝と松倉如子
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This morning at 4:00 a.m. I woke up to the blaring porch light shinning at me through my window from across the parking lot behind my room.
I was thinking about the river, the mucky green color of the water and the bare light bulbs above the plastic screen doors, covered in flies, mosquitos, nats at night like a moth to a flame and then I was thinking about the back deck of the lake house, moss on the black metal, the sound the insects make in the night.
I used to spend so many hours in those waters. I thought about my swimsuits, the two pieces the one pieces, my lungs sometimes aching from so much swimming, my reflection in the sliding glass door, my friend telling me I had a pretty body:
becoming conscious of my body,
the leaking pools of youth.
I felt my heart racing and I knew I was a child.
Today I felt my eyes racing and I thought I was a child for a second there and then I felt this separation in my head, separated by the time and the distance and the everything in between now and then, I felt like a child in another person’s body: becoming conscious of my body.
When I was a child I always used to imagine that one day I could wake up as someone else, with the same mind but in a different body. I remember that I figured that it must be so close and so easy to just switch like that because all that was separating us was skin and I felt like the power of my soul was enough to jump out and go anywhere.
I suppose that in a way we choose what we remember and I don’t know why I choose to remember what I do. In the moment of the separation my life was flashing before my eyes: the plastic trays of cafeterias, the white tea and the woman from the green café who picked lilacs from my front yard and told me how to boil the water to steep the leaves without burning them, the summer heat, the intensity, the girl who threw that rock at my car.
I was thinking about my father and about my mother and how I am the child of the river and the waves of the great lakes.
I was the child of the river and the waves of the great lakes.
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Like a carrot I will be everything God can’t see
Oh, what do I mean
God can see everything
I mean the angels, I mean the half-gods
I mean the flowers, don’t ever let them see me live forever
Don’t you ever let them see
That I am all root here in the ground
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Therewhere i put my hand.
Therewhere I close the door behind me.
Therewhere I unpack my bag.
Therewhere place incites me, chides me, invites me.
Absence Where As

. “If I were just careless and began to have the conversations with myself
if I were a blank page of time
a page of time
that everyone around was folding
so everyone all around just kept folding
parts of me all around up
downs and ups and ups and downs
soft little rips
of visions of morning
WHICH MORNING?
ALL THE ENDLESS MORNINGS AND
ALL THE ENDLESS VISIONS OF THEM ALL
IN
C
utting delirium out
love is not even
little bits of shredded papers
WHO SAYS?
SAID IT SO.
in any way and sleeping through that or the invitations to,
all strange men and woman having conversations
and having conversations
all kinds of conversations and all of them kind of
all of the conversations beginning to be had all
at once in swift ecstatic rotation
spinning and spinning and spinning
feet
flickering off feet flickering the fuck
until sinking to the knees.
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O Palhaço
Gostava só de lixeiros crianças e árvores
Arras trava na rua por uma corda uma estrela suja.
Vinha pingando oceano!
Todo estragado de azul.
Gullivera
La mujer más alta de la ciudad es seria
y muestra una sonrisa perversa a deshoras
cuando ofrécete un bombón que otro regaló
cuando gravita las cosas al rededor
y dice ‘liliput yourself in your little place’
No sabe la mujer más alta de la ciudad
que la altitud puede ser un peligro
y que tienes ardiles para coger seres así
¿pero para que tú quieres capturarla
si puedes tenerla sin suelo solo aire?
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