Sunday, February 17, 2019

Snow to Sleet then Night by Joshua Marie Wilkinson

so half our life is vague and stormy make-believe. –Glenway Wescott

Which would make the other half

Fear of death, the snaky punishment of trying
to mask our desires?

That aversion named pleasure?

So much for lasting all night, inviting in
the spirit of the other.

What’s unkillable in us is perhaps
what’s distasteful in any neighbor.

Shortness of breath. The inability to reflect
mid conversation. Restless dis-
ease. Anxious attachments. Poor drink.

When I stop to look around it’s just a wet breeze.

Snow diminishing to sleet
to whatever slurry’s left of anything.

I want to stand up when I’m sitting. Sleep
when I’m running. Fall when I’m flat

on the ground. Through the rug to where?

Not death, of course.

Some other vacancy. Some other set of

Joshua Marie Wilkinson wrote a book called Meadow Slasher (Black Ocean 2017). He lives in Seattle.

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