On this page I’ve placed words.
Your first impulse is to fall in love with them
as they are considered ‘poetry.’
They are inherently imitations
due to their appearance on paper.
The other day I wound up at this new gallery in town. I kept looking back at this piece on the far wall set apart from the rest of them. It was this sleek wooden frame with a pad-lock tightly fit about the bottom left corner. There was no picture in the frame, leaving space for the egg-shell wall behind it. Reading the artist’s statement, she had found the pad-lock without a key, and the frame was given to her in two halves, as a gift. The piece was entitled ‘Artistic Baggage.’ Upon finding the lock she fit it around one end of the frame, and nailed the two halves together, adding afterwards that she did so, “quite poorly.”
I haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday.
I had a turkey sandwich with lettuce and a little bit of mayo,
on one of those big rolls they got down at the grocery store.
It didn’t taste quite right, so I had a tough time finishing it,
but my roommate was in the kitchen with me, so I managed.
It’s been four years or so since I told someone I loved them,
and I’m working on this theory that
our favorite colors are just repressed childhood memories.