March 22, 2012 at 3:02pm
[i'm bored hosting charades,wrought with polished childrens' games.]
where would you like to meet,
the ice at the bottom of the world?
i can be there.
we can be the separation there,
we can be the sovereign,
all that's left of a species scattered
where nobody will care how the ice feels in our lungs.
where there's nobody there, anyway.
across the southern ocean,
across the coarse waves and words,
words we can take with a grain or sack of salt,
like old medicine, like older foods and fruits,
we can cut with our knives,
we can rest right back in the ice
and choke on the rinds.
how do you like life in the cracks, dear?
the hours of day slip away in pairs it appears,
as sun rolls to night,
we can fill our great patch of ice with the fingers of flames
as we burn our neat little effigies,
the smoke rising in tidy rings
like the breath of an outlander
who has spent too much time alone.
we'll fill our lives with the confirmation
of sensibility and nonexistence,
the quiet simplicity of loneliness
as we melt away our homes,
here at the bottom of the world.