“File This Under Supernova” by July Westhale
for meg
now it is i saying “forgive me”
for having the mar of blackholes on my mapscape,
for dreaming in the snowglobe of my home city
to stay where clothes hung limp
growing inedible lichens in the buttonholes
with a view of chile’s sugarloaf in my vantage point
and enough rolled up billetes
to buy only reverance
forgive the trespasses of my skeletons
and the dust they make in these eaves
your ink and the poems that turned to silt
in the terrible trenches of window ledges
bowed with the things that fly off of them
of ashtrays shattering six times before abandon
of histories the preceded and predicted
of small parts in staged places, of informalities
and of the wretched murk of waking.
Copyright © July Westhale, 2011