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AR #58 Cover
number 58

by C.L. Knight


I was about to close my eyes and imagine
a body still young, but not so stupid—
a little fish that knew it was a fish.

I have been letting go of rational thought lately,
and basically, I have not been thinking
in the sense, or non-sense you are asking about.

I was thinking about the lack of transcendence
in this house and wondering if a new tablecloth
would put me in touch with the universe.

I was hoping I could force the latest hurricane
into the mid Atlantic, twist its course
like a lock of hair winding on my finger.

How I cannot overcome gravity without invention,
but could drop a penny into the river
and pretend that it's raining money.

I was wondering if you can embrace someone forever,
or if after touching, the rage to separate
generates chaos, like a siren in rush hour traffic.

I was picturing a bright swarm
of fireflies glittering my hair—
the collective unconscious in flames.

I was wondering why I spend so much time
drawing a line around myself, marking the difference
between my foot and the floor beneath it.

I was hoping the line would protect me
from the rumored oneness of thought and anemone,
of eggs that drop from their nest and my odd dreams.

How drawing my hand is easier if I forget
the fingers and draw the air between them.
How I am not air, but its chamber.

If my memory disappears like dream teeth—
floating away in the middle of the night,
how will I find the empty mouth of morning?

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