“…poetry makes nothing happen: it survives” -W.H. Auden
A wish to kiss your eyelids &
the heavy weight of images
Guillotine quick & clean
in the most golden morning light
we’ve ever seen in our lives,
nothing but beauty would survive;
light without darkness means nothing,
so maybe joy needs suffering.
Is there even any memory you
would want to lose?
poem is impotent
& yet still it persists:
to take those heavy images
& leave you only with those that help you