Jorie Graham, 5 July 2018
“... parched, on tight, questioned, invisible, full of so much evolution, now the moment is gone, begin again, my skin, here, my limit of the visible me, I touch it now, is spirit-filled, naturally-selected, caught in the storm here under this tree, propped up by history, which, I don’t know which, be careful, you can’t love everyone – brought to you by Revlon, melancholy, mother’s mother, the pain of others, spooky up close in this mirror here, magnified to the 100th, brutal no-colour colour, what shall I call it, shall I pass, meandering among the humans, among their centuries, no safe haven this as if, this spandex over a void, no exception, god watching though casually, paring, paring, a glance once in a while – what am I missing – what am I supposed to do now suddenly, what at the last minute here – what is there to fix – are we alone – am I – packaged so firmly for this short interval – vigorous skin, doomed outsideness of me – sadder & no wiser here blown up, so close, so here, I see you net that skeins me in, tight inside my inwardness – at this border judged – at this edge bleeding when hit – as was for a while – didn’t know enough to leave – didn’t see the farewell – right there in front of me – must it always end this way – must I ceaselessly be me, reinvent you, see the artifice us, feel hand-to-face the childhood gone, the starlight the wind the gaze the race, the stranger not knowing, the unsaid unsaid, unseen unfound – look how full of void it is this capture, these pores no one can clean, and thoughts right there beneath – of course you cannot see me for this wrapping – I notice the cover of your book, the dress you hide beneath, you sitting there reading me – pay mind, pay it out, peering as we are at each other here – dermal papilla pigment-layer nerve fibre blood and lymph, can we fit into this strictest time, so quick, one click and hurry up – we’ve been trying forever to get out of this lonely place – inside’s inside – the movie of the outside was all about exploring, we explored, we found what we should never touch, we touched, we touch, what’s so unusual we say, you are now mine we say, this is the feature coming on, this future, so full of liking & fine dis- closure, a bud-tip pushing aside its sheathe, then standing there, very whole now and official, open to damp, heat, stippling, shadow, freckle, slap, beauty or no beauty – please help me here as I can’t tell – the trees don’t know – the wind won’t speak – the gods must but their names are being withheld – because some of us are murdered, and some of us have mouths that keep saying yes, do that to me again, I know it hurts but yes, I am an American and I like it harder than you’ll ever know, this is Tuesday, the day rises with its fist over the harbour saying give it to me and the day obliges, saying more, more, do you want more, and the torch of dawn says more, yes more, ask for my identification, my little pool of identification, here on the only road, arrested again among the monuments ...”