The correspondence she writes is in the shape of a dog−
fills them with anecdotes of dressers
and the first two years of her life spent in a drawer.
We meet in Zurich over a nightmare –
(sleep under an argument)–
Travel to Berlin where a priest walks between us.
She promises to write.
Her letters are like a leap year. She writes riddles
about the price of post and serious Marian treaties –
only cursorily mentioning the living.
I read her letters like an eating
disorder. I try to decipher the hermetic meaning
of the word Shvod in all the margins.
Her last line reads,
“I must beat the walls it is March…”
Apr 23, 2024
Apr 23, 2024 at 3:37 PM UTC
The correspondence she writes is in the shape of a dog−
fills them with anecdotes of dressers
and the first two years of her life spent in a drawer.
We meet in Zurich over a nightmare –
(sleep under an argument)–
Travel to Berlin where a priest walks between us.
She promises to write.
Her letters are like a leap year. She writes riddles
about the price of post and serious Marian treaties –
only cursorily mentioning the living.
I read her letters like an eating
disorder. I try to decipher the hermetic meaning
of the word Shvod in all the margins.
Her last line reads,
“I must beat the walls it is March…”
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