Sunday, August 07, 2011

Ghosts of Summer

The great machine of night roars on
in my head. It is sweltering. Tonight
I watched Nirvana in 1991 on YouTube
and felt wretched and imprecise.
The walls around me were here
then, as now. A colossal frisk of my ways.
What did you do that summer? My essay
is rounded and steamy. This is my hymn to silence.
When the breathing stops we get attention
enough to walk home, get a vacation & fuck.
The whole world is on vacation. I have two
candles burning and a towel under my elbows
on my desk to catch the sweat. Summer, you have
warped all I thought I could remember.
The faint scent of cigarettes on an old sweater.
The life I had then before I had all these spirits
to exhume. I assume you made it out.
I hope you come to some final pardon,
bent over me like a ghost you read
about in a really serious book about ghosts.

1 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

Love.

10:48 AM  

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