she carries forward a tradition April 4

she talks, and a brick building starts falling apart
something else could happen,
but before it could

somebody asks her the directions
and she tells
she doesn’t forget what she was saying
she has only one thread lined-up straight
her mind is simple as the feeling of moist grass
under one’s feet

she is eager to join them
I don’t see why
she says they will take her words across to everyone
I see her become another name another name-plate on the wall
I desire a kingdom, unearthed, dug-up, doggedly discovered
she desires the promised land…

who’s ever reached the promised land?

weren’t all utopias nowheres, maybe my eye-piece is flawed
maybe my eye-piece is coloured by the picture on the wall
that crazy, awkward picture on the wall,
sitting on a bench and swinging my feet
how short was I, then? how young was I then
learning to spell and learning to crawl

learning to remain hidden and lost and unknown
like a drop of water, which falls on a piece of glass
and dries up and leaves behind exactly nothing.