CONTACT

ESPECIAL

STRING THEORY

As a boy, I chose a beach ball

with a metal chopstick

over food and grownups

What wouldn’t float away

despite any mouth

Some things choose us

Waking in a best friend's coffin

The slow, inward draw of a lover’s

draining dream

Feathery rain that will never land

Sweet dry leaf sage

translucent silverfish flee

still dispatching oceans

Each time I burn the world pure

When the Lord created the sun

shadows unfastened themselves

Let there be the mature mind

Some things won’t return

Let there be the unquenchable sea

Let there be an infant somewhere, always

in the city night, refusing to obey

He will speak through scissors

He will collect infinitely useless string

He will fashion a kind of belief

in subtraction's eloquence