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Erick Piller




The plague has visited and the festival begun; the city’s boarded up

my house. Now “door” and “window” repeat like a song

sung to me once by a nurse. I wait for a change

of the guard.


I’m not going to write about you.

I’m going to write about the weather.

Outside, it’s hot. Inside, it’s cool.

It’s humid, because I’m weeping!


Kissing you has become more and more

like falling asleep against a locked door.




The Book of Ours



I love the steady

rhythm of analog clocks

but to buy an an-

alog clock today would

seem so quaint so

I bought an analog

clock and hid

the face under

electrical tape I am


no one not my

girlfriend I play

these recordings

of dogs barking

when we have

no dogs because

I have always

wanted dogs even

if I never

explain this to

her I do

not have to

a man must

have his


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