Funny what 5 years distance can do to your memory. I read poems I wrote on a blog back then, and barely recognize–well, I should admit, I don’t remember it at all:
forgetfulness in the details. buzzing where memory ain’t. where in the blood exists a faint blur i relate to escapism, but also where the color washes out to a faint sigh on the canvas. she reminds me of rabbit skin glue, which i took pride in mixing. smelly the initiation into knowledge, and sticky. afterwards there were soft wet strokes, with which i prepared a future ground. i didn’t know that. in the ballad there is always a turn to or away. sometimes there are canyons, metaphors for descent and ascent. at one end of the plain, there is an edge nearly obscured by the grasses. this might’ve been in the dakotas, a few miles west of wounded knee. a cold breeze from the north bends us in one direction, and then another.