7 August 2024
20 August 2024
(gasp)
still life with hypochondriac
and standard lamp, it
should be evening and a rising
panic spread, with your fingertips
you could photograph
its entire surface
but you feel inadequate
you feel you’re multiple, like fish flopped
in shallow water where each goes ‘o’
but it’s just the edge
of the red sea quilt made
by your mother while you died, tonight
you’re caught in its neap tide
the water low in oxygen, warm
as a new adventure into loneliness
a new truth and consolation
commission, so listen hard
to all the fish, to all the ‘o’s’