In Response to Feeling Alone
Doubtless our lives are solitary but also the inverse.
Everything’s been known before us OK. The clouds
disappear the sky sometimes; or they become it. When we stood on Seminyak beach like a pair of exclamation points,
we heard the same offing tone heard when someone went to look for their father’s corpse in 1965, didn’t we. Please don’t make me explain this. After the fact
a siren seesaws by my open window. Passing on the street a voice in a phone says no I’m alone now so it’s possible ghosts also vacation
from whats-to-come. How many people can you name who want to be loved without enthusiastically loving back? The common
cause of disappearances costs us. We live in the
aftermath. In other words, if one more person tells me the country of my father’s birth is cheap
I will lose it. In other words, this is the only language I speak. To my slightest disappointment: I’m just writing to say hello. No need to write back.
Don’t get me wrong, waiting isn’t passive, but what if they never found him? Spoiler alert you already know they didn’t; or they found him
a thousand times a thousand times. The story I was told was cooked on a soaking wet skewer piercing the meat of it through and through. In other words,
an implication. Not to change the subject, but if you think an apocalypse will eliminate the wealth gap, let’s hold together the premonition
it will not. Admiration turned me into a housefly, repeating my body against a window trying to get out. I lied
low about having let particular men touch me, but don’t leave me alone now before I recover. Their spines turned in on the shelves reveal thick wads of time I spent in omission. Gentle paper, I ask for it back. Doubtless
this moment is our opening.