WEBVTT

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This next short section
is part of the longest

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poem in the manuscript, which is
actually called "And Wings Made

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of Matchsticks," but I'm
just going to give you

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a little taste of this one.

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"And Wings Made of Matchsticks."

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"To mold and be molded from,
when were we no longer children

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playing with sticks?

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To create fire implies
nothing of being of fire.

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When did sticks contort,
refigure to metal and gasoline?

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How far from these
nests built inside you,

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say cranium, say that
muscular organ sitting in sac?

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Shake your head while you speak.

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Say throne, fallen and fallen.

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You unpack vocabulary, let
letters tumble from your jaw.

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You stand in a landscape
of words, words,

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and borrow and break, and
mend, what wield looks like."

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