14 of 30, 2015

Where is Fancy Bred?

A Liz Phair CD taught me a woman
could want straight past the logic
of self. Desire makes the desired
an Everest to scale or die, lungs starved,
eyes fixed on the summit. Given the chance
she'd do everything, write a fugue
on a body until the final entry and devour

the coda. A daydream can excite a particle
until it lashes another to it, and the spooky
action between them can only be named
together. Even in the best of the nineties I knew
no one made me feel that way. If I made anyone
feel that way, why the hell didn't they tell me?