Joe Wenderoth


 

You There

 

You're my grandmother. 
Your toe is on fire.
You're no longer able to read
except with a magnifying glass.
What you are able to recall…
you repeat
with increasing concision.
Your hearing is almost completely gone.
You're almost there.

 

 

 

Speech Given To A Machine

 

Air is not air.
Light is not light.
Taste-buds are not taste-buds.
Word-count is not word-count.
Angel of death is not angel of death.
Original habitat is not original habitat.

This is not to say that you are free.
This is just to say that you are unable
to remember your dreams.

 

 

 

Language

 

it eats me
sometimes

like thunder
eats the sleep
of mice

like almost forgotten faces
open up the true silence
of the tongue