Academic journal article Chicago Review

Graphology 91: What Little I Have Left of Memory

Academic journal article Chicago Review

Graphology 91: What Little I Have Left of Memory

Article excerpt

In the head rush

I saw the carpet numbers, and the numbers

of all foods were networked,

and the modified plants grew through veins

of strangers and uttered a welcome

I dizzily knew to be unwell,

even sick. I know that I require

sun to grow, and without sun

I grow beaten down as trees marked for culling:

the pink crosses that fluoresce in nightlights

so quick, or blue dots of the savage pruning.

It's not place I'm of; the rash where the bandaid stuck,

the modular narrative of airports and flight,

global positioning about the ground, not clouds.

There's a place called Hathaway's which the family

can't get to, now run by a man who blows up

fox dens and rabbit warrens, and it is said

took a couple of fingers from one hand. Eagles

nested there and territories were closer than usual, the hundred acres

of bush rife with life. Not even the poison on the edges shut it down,

the change comes you can't see. I am thinking of there,

of the mallee and "scratch book", the nomenclature

and etymology of childhood. It's a collusion of place.

I looked at a house and the occupant forged my signature

A fair likeness. She lamented songbirds

for the presence of crows. So charged, I said.

And that was my preference.

50 Cent is big in Bagdad. …

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