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Category: Thomas Meyer

Last Poem

Is this that? Let go. Sameness troubles me.

Table. Chair. Whatever. I know when I see it.

Things come and they go. Think of Langlois

and the Cinémathèque. Or the library at Alexandria.

These persistencies not of memory but the imagination.

Not what was lost. But that it was there.

The musical savant makes me wonder.

Is music simply tick-tock? Something

lacking ambiguity? Never fuzzy however

lush. Tone mashed upon tone like a platitude.

What does it mean when you dream a dream

where the place is not the place

and the people there not the people?

Is their anonymity a poem? A secret passage?

In a library. The book case swings open.

Here transgression is obscured and sleep awakes.

The girl is fourteen, maybe fifteen. Her brother, say, ten.

I catch sight of them. Think I know who they are.

Gone. Then they reappear. Did I see this the other day or

dream it. Same pair? How did I not see their utter beauty?

Not thinking. About stuff. Clear.

Plate-glass mind. My hesitation to mention it.

Or say loss of appetite.

And mean: “loss of soul.”

Glitter of anticipation. Slant light. Momentary

car up the drive. But not. Breeze. Afternoon.

Can I get these few lines down? Before

he arrives?

Apparently the one thing they’re not

telling us about desire is that

it is its own fulfillment whether we

stand in its way, deny, or flee.

Not sure what to do about it. The mention

of Pindar. Sun tangled in branches. Dogs barking.

A train. These edges symmetries disguised as

asymmetrical arise in gaps or lurk

in distracted moments to kick start the rhapsodic.

Did I eschew closure, deemed it folly

no less a fool for doing so. Stupidly thinking

metaphor was color. Blue blue. Red red.

Storm past. Still dark sky blends into

dusk. A rightness to it all.

But only now that my gut returns to normal.

Something set it wandering.

Suddenly all my soul in its care

washes and scrubs the poison without much

success. Then a sudden “aptness” draws

home the absence of well-being.

from KintsugiFind more by Thomas Meyer at the library

Copyright © Thomas Meyer
Used with the permission of Flood Editions.

This program is supported in part by a grant from the Idaho Humanities Council, a State-based program of the National Endowment for the Humanities.

Any views, findings, conclusions, or recommendations expressed in this (publication, website, exhibit, etc.) do not necessarily represent those of the Idaho Humanities Council or the National Endowment for the Humanities.

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