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“he—
the fatal lodestar—sinks
his rapier into the ground,
reclines on a four-poster bed
of crinoline and trash, remembers
the fidelity of man, his honorific
native tongue, humbly requests
a glass of water. It is the last glass
of water in the world. The fly
merely circulates. I could die here,
not unhappily, but won’t;—
the world will continue,
panoptic, bread will be baked,
the children will sleep fast.
It is the first day of the last day.
The low tide moans its applause”
―
the fatal lodestar—sinks
his rapier into the ground,
reclines on a four-poster bed
of crinoline and trash, remembers
the fidelity of man, his honorific
native tongue, humbly requests
a glass of water. It is the last glass
of water in the world. The fly
merely circulates. I could die here,
not unhappily, but won’t;—
the world will continue,
panoptic, bread will be baked,
the children will sleep fast.
It is the first day of the last day.
The low tide moans its applause”
―
“When my ex-husband called me
a black hole, he was, in a sense,
correct: my face a gravity field
so strong even light cannot beam.”
―
a black hole, he was, in a sense,
correct: my face a gravity field
so strong even light cannot beam.”
―
