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--- H A L V A R D J O H N S O N 1. Facing the music snatches of dialogue he said, "Does your head hurt?" she said, "No" moments when everything seems personal summery clothes make me nervous sweet defilements something wholly primitive 2. Carrying my scrapbook giving in to nothing killing people because I like to woken by a sudden shock of pain nobody gives us anything hair combed back from her forehead coming to our rescue shining water under the streetlights 3. Plunging downward drifting down beside her familiar, troubled world wanting to say it out loud living on credit extending one hand toward the sun a little like standing on the corner shaving the dog for the summer 4. Slapping the surface of the table having been dead for years now jumping up to see if you were really there sitting on the church steps balancing the dream against the falling light glad that you're okay 5. Sitting with the gun across his knees massaging his knuckles moonrise white over water listening to her pretending to listen to him flights to some distant cities true, but separate clear as could be in the silent air thinking of the evening coming up |
© crossconnect 1995-1999
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published in association with the
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university of pennsylvania
kelly writers house
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