or a thousand tiny wires, or hairs

i’m remembering a time when i had thought the words
but had never said them aloud – on the subject of these
things that should be said from time to time, or never –
and then it came the time to say it and the words were
a texture i couldn’t understand – like okra or fibreglass –
and you were very quick to laugh at the performance of
me – mouth crawling with hairy grubs – trying to say small
so-and-so things to you

how many fingers am i holding up?

i’m typing this with dully blurred eyes.
maybe it’s better this way, not to focus
like blades on words and their form and
the way they knit tightly into permanent
positions. this way, they are light and grey,
shifting imperceptibly and making sluttish
geometry.

(i don’t know whether i’d consider last night’s
dinner a real dinner. it’s a classification that
troubles me greatly.)