1. I left everything at the shore because I was happy there on a day there were no reports of chemical warfare.
  2. [If this were a Pollock painting, chart the red undercurrent, then the blue.]
  3. Happy = not needing anything else
  4. [except maybe what we purport love to be
  5. that velvet container to climb inside, memorize, and transport to a ship bottle to ward off the blues
  6. one’s inner horses stopped or stuck. Unattended.
  7. The ability to do anything definitive or fun with the confidence of performers.]
  8. Now, there is even less—silk running past the bullet-proof glass we live behind, passwords that no one remembers but that can easily be hacked.
  9. I don’t want to be so honest, but if I’m not, then everything stays the same, and there is no poem that can perform minute miracles of attention and surprise, a future pleasure, a waking up, if needed, or ability to sleep.
  10. I am writing notes for the suicide to convince otherwise.
  11. The paragraphs will be filled with sky and there is a repeating theme of the warm sunlight when riding in the heated car in winter, a white color block in a Rothko.
  12. Somewhere someone is starving. Somewhere someone is lost. Bleeding. After the earthquake [the ornate ceiling paintings have caved in] or the retaliation.
  13. Someone is praying
  14. in an unknown language of piercing sounds.


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2 Responses to ADMISSIONS

  1. Myke Todd says:

    You seemed distraught, approaching the scene;

    I choose to believe that you got away clean.

    Honesty is essential but not by way of prose,

    where a color chart shows, and anything goes.

  2. Krysia Jopek says:

    Yes, I got away in the poetry-chariot clean, I believe, but today is another day for anything to go. You are wise. You are beholden.

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