before and after
radiation
causes
cancer
cured
by
radiation
Dear Ariadne,
How’s tricks? It’s been ebb and flow between the seconds and cigarettes here. Minny told me yesterday that “There’s no need to build a labyrinth when the entire universe is one.” Made the whole exercise seem kind of pointless. Anywho, wish you were here. Without you I feel like I need to kill things for no reason, and the 14 are now fewer and your thread grows thin in the tunnels. Yours, Theseus
Deleted a poem
about running over the dead possum,
but I wanted to tell you rot-skin
and describe its waterlog stench.
Almost told you how the sky pillowed,
matched its color to possumfur.
I wanted to tell you
how the canopy of old trees were roof
or tunnel of green,
about the bald vulture and backbone,
the nostalgia. So much never made it
to the poem.
The lady is a train ready to derail,
consumed by her confusion;
she asks herself if it was a dream,
or did she simply create something
to stir into the confused concoction
of her cacophony? Joining
day-to-day events with news
programs and soap operas,
like a recipe, a batter to blend,
her mind but a muddled mess
of musings. There’ll be no baked scones
in her future to enjoy with afternoon tea.
