Survival needs willpower even in collapse. That way it’s
your fault to the end. I cough up words for no reason at all.
Scatter linseed oil and recycled oil rigs abandoned
way back in ‘82. Responsibility for all those oil-
drenched birds makes rainbows in uncertain light.
We got rid of serfdom then brought it back.
I wrote 16 poems while the neighbour slept and tacked
them on her door with gum. Everything new has the
substance of taffy. Words in a heap make a kind of hum.
Even bones in my face have changed direction. There’s a
fly inside the window that thinks it’s outside. You can’t
tell it it’s wrong, it sees outside so clearly.
To a window fly the whole world is square. I forget at times
if I’m bird or oil. The end is too late for this kind of wonder.
