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“March 15, 1998 Let me forget when the hanged man looks in the window. Outside, the desperate speak in a lost language. Let us in, they sigh, with the tongues of waterfalls. But you, out of breath, category of the misplaced; serial-killer of my days; while my left ventricle pumps the exact pressure of the universe . . . in spite of your default, with no substantial reason, I speak for you as though you are still here. We are arranged like that. A sad mistake, a Mendelbrot, a fractal glitch, a gift from zero.” — Ruth Stone
March 15, 1998
Let me forget
when the hanged man
looks in the window.
Outside, the desperate
speak in a lost language.
Let us in, they sigh,
with the tongues of waterfalls.
But you, out of breath,
category of the misplaced;
serial-killer of my days;
while my left ventricle
pumps the exact pressure
of the universe . . .
in spite of your default,
with no substantial reason,
I speak for you
as though you are still here.
We are arranged like that.
A sad mistake, a Mendelbrot,
a fractal glitch, a gift from zero.