Dear K,
I’m not sure about this.
I got a birthday card from my ex.
‘Hope your 30th birthday / is extra special.’
(That’s an exact quote.)
I liked the use of ‘eyehigh’
in your poem – it’s so relative. We
went to the Galapagos together.
I didn’t expect you to get that, though.
What should I make of your poem –
this process – it’s all so impersonal. What do we
leave out of history? I had a dream
and woke up with the lines,
The dreary humdak lopes a closing loop
through the woods / chainsaws buzz
a bird song, and this:
“armchairs torn apart.”
I want to add:
like queer ground
like dropout sea
like bitch house
there’s a solid weight
at the end of the rope,
you just have to hope
because you can’t be sure
it’s not around a throat
when you pull.
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