Today is when I pretend my heart is not
a woman’s face
being drawn down toward
the eventually happened upon chin (it’s not often
that there is a call for such imaginings)
and now I am truly unhappy.
Even this young tree knows!
I stop here to look at its lowest limb,
the only one on the tree that shrivels
into September. I am missing out on everything!
I have more than enough, so that even furniture grows
easily into my wallets, but what a bore, and I feel like without me
somewhere, there is constant rejoicing behind a fence
that is anymore just hinges on a post of wood
yet I cannot get in.
The sunflowers are dying and fat
Labradors frown to take a smooth shit and the women
are all dressed in black sweat suits
for what kind of funeral?
It is easy to eat, but how easy I have forgotten that
we need to hunger. I raise my eyes for every red car that passes,
then look down into my hands and say aloud a red car
will always be coming at me but not always for me.
My legs are a long half-of-the-length of my body
and they’re on a journey for coffee, but everything is so much
and everywhere that I start to believe
the digital time and temperature clock, as if
it must be a small god with a message just for me
about Time and the Variances of Heat.
I have come long enough from where I was not before.
I am an old woman, cold,
hunched over a lawn mower in the gardens of Versailles.
I will never find my way back.