VOWELL

O reluctant worshipper

O late mourner

 

It’s late the hands say

(hands on a clock-face – we couldn’t

make THIS up).

 

I’m dropping all consonants

From this day forward

It’s like anti-russian

At this point:

Only soft sounds

My speech will be like

Cooing in your ear

No hard edges to define

Us – I’ll take the easy way

Anytime.

 

Now the ground rules

Are that when you want

Me to talk dirty

It will be nearly impossible

Because what you want to hear

Is dependent on those shafts of sounds

That pierce and penetrate

The air – the space between us.

Perhaps we’d better just say

Goodbye now – I don’t see a happy end

 But then if I make a prediction

About how we’ll be

Eating small portions of food

From a can – trying to find

Something to talk about,

We’ll just completely forget

About how physical

We once were

The separation of two

Into two living quarters

Now when you turn in the night

I won’t feel it nor care when the nails

Haven’t been trimmed

I’ll be in my own bed

Cooing with only the soft sounds

Of dying. I’ll ah my way forward

And oh when my bones creak

And ih when I’ve no memory

Of an if.

 

                                    -jim hill (11-28-09)