| Secret Life with Squirrel Erin Lambert |
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1. Everywhere I feel my soul's fractures: eyeless bird in gutter, small boy dragged through shop by collar, blown lights down lifeless street. But I can never be King of Pain, so I recite daily: "You, whom I could not save, listen to me," until I hear that entire poem move through my mind thoughtless. Some days I have recalled while walking: "it matters | that autumn is grafted into autumn it matters that autumn is" I felt such words would cloak my misery from this shared one which surrounds me that I wanted to keep those two apart lest they mate. Still, I wondered: Why not paint all ceilings the underside of leaf? That dull pea that stains the light of liars? We have all been made to stare at floors with the persistent gaze of canisters sealed in cellar.  | |||
