Untitled.
I am unworthy because I flew from a bridge, wired
to my other geese, my unused wire.
And the bell my mother used to hide
her love in, which was enclosed like a star,
a paper star, an imperceptible desert which
made the painful lamp sing.
Feeling nothing as that which is given.
How slow I was to enter anything.
Within this green boat, I must have
waited till I believed apprehension
had passed as if it could, detaining
the dream from the end.
There was an end.
For the end, I was sure.
I ate the potato.
I went down into the shattered hotel and ate another potato.
I held your breath.
It wasn't mine.
My teacher sang from newsprint.
My mother appeared and demanded I start again.
I detained.