These poems appear in the latest issue of the LARB Print Quarterly Journal: No. 20 Childhood
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¤
Closer
The critics say
we’ve finally begun to move
from solipsism
to futility.
It’s true
that standing still
is exhausting.
*
As a way out
of myself
(and into someone near me),
more gripping
than vampire stories,
more realistic
than falling in love,
I watch toddlers
form thoughts
and act on them.
What Follows
It’s a good thing
mind’s distributed.
“It wasn’t me,”
one says,
repeatedly.
“I haven’t died.”
*
Each tract,
thus bracketed,
waits
for what precedes,
what follows.
*
I accept defeat.
To accept defeat
is to regress,
to go back
where you came from.
This may be
the fountain of youth!
I claim it
for myself.
¤
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