FANTASIA FOR FOUR HANDS
Hello. This is my body.
It makes me terrible.
Someone opens it regularly.
It is opened regularly.
I am always the same thing:
Make a sentence about joy.
Sometimes he is dying but he never dies.
Let’s say it one more time:
I am so thirsty.
Here are my instruments.
I can use my own hands
to separate an apple into two halves.
The base time unit—the second—
a fly beats its wings a thousand times a second.
Song the past tense of sing.
O drain the killing fields,
farmer harvesting wedding rings.
Once a month the river floods.
The spring is heavier than the sun.
I was doing chores when the storm clouds formed.
All of a sudden the storm horn sounded.
“No sports for now,” said Dad. “We need to work
Until we are sore.”
Rain, will you read these words for me?
SELF-PORTRAIT AT 25