W

Thousands of miles away, a smear of sun spreads over the table. He cooks strange fabrications:  they look at him and avoid tasting the fares. He scatters them on the table, the white cloth lapping the knees. The new wife forbids garlic and onions. The men obey.

cannot

Uncle C. stops breathing on the phone. He recognizes her voice, says hello we are all ok here how about you. The room swallows the air. She says she calls because she remembers it's his 60^th birthday.

Nothing compares to you in the radio. I am in another land now, watching the horizon

wretched dying a little death everyday don't want to think about I am five and I want to be good but I cannot

rooftop

 

  

the naming of places

The park
The Street
The House
The Railway Station
The City Centre
The Midday Hour

the three hours the city plays dormant lulled scorched The wind crawling braising the throats losing the minds 

We wander around the neighbourhood -the birds have stopped singing a while ago- up the stairs of the open building to the roof waiting for Aunt C's chants and denunciations.

...

 

concentrate on the jar. nobody will see you. the jar. the world is silent. the jar. dried milk and red y- fronts. the maids in jail because their patrons suspect they have stolen a marmalade jar, or an expensive tablecloth or whatever. that will teach them. night-sounds the clouds oxygen cries and whispers red nights black nights.