“File This Under Solidity” by July Westhale
for meg
I want to remember this. This.
I want to remember—
the bullets burgeoning ideas
ceasing terribly
the rain dinning and the clocks–
the clocks, which you are no stranger to,
the clocks combusting
their twitching faces in the river
like quentin compton finding italy on a map
between Utilitarian and Xenophobia.
some things warrant the heavy hand of their timepieces,
being held into place, lifted up,
situated to a firm press and cranked
with their letters inked.
sleep is one of them.
and memory and the black soot of edges
when you pass from one moment to another.
light this mantel, burn it up.
the first time I slept over I was dumbfounded
at how silently you slept with the weight of riverrocks
gouging the bed of calamity
in dreamscape, there is no Italy
only a tuning to the circle of sevens.
Copyright © July Westhale, 2011