With the lights of week #42 shining bright, the countdown is on… just 10 weeks to go until the final bulb blows. But this is no time for maudlin thoughts, no, it’s time to revel in the delight of cufflinks, sleek patterns and shining goddesses. It’s time to let the light find you…
And to make this week extra special, the first person out there who correctly identifies what Cindy has photographed, I will send you a copy of Cameron Hindrum’s ‘Private Conversations’. Look forward to reading what people think it is in the comments!
and the asbestos in the neighbour’s
roof glows silver.
I name you goddess of the shining breasts.
Someone downstreet is mowing, someone is
limping their dog.
Somewhere your eyes’ hue have a rival.
The mango tree bursts open
and bats feel their way skyward.
There is so much hiding.
I want what can’t be true:
the improbability of you standing there
your sleek skinned self made for water
not waving from the window
so much as reaching through it.
Whoever called this a mortal coil
my grandmother did not hear them
soon enough, bony frown of her hips
slipping into rue, small children
like livestock. She would set the table
and look for that one, romantic
piece of metal. Grandfather’s cuff links
opposite her, showing his delight
that always came from other objects.
Had it been me and eighty years
later, I could have talked my way back
into relevance, startled him
with parallelograms: roma
is amor, or possibly this:
I have been to Venice and sipped
soda beneath its chalk colored skies
but here is my essential
question: what do I call the noise
your eyelids make in the dark
the dry, snapping like a strong box sound.