Excluded from Frescoes
Thank you for the gift. Never have I seen a more thoughtful tea-strainer. For you I'm striking a silent movie pose. For instance, I step out and take in the moon like a tourist. It puts tiny gloves on the ferns. It's bigger than life size. I've a room here just for sitting. If I want I fetch some music to slap me around. I've three other rooms-- in this way the house resembles a cow's stomach. I have the feeling we'll be excluded from frescoes despite the fitful way you loved me, Alice, I'm confident we're finally on our own. If I need to think of you and I do I let telephone wires paraphrase the landscape till there's just a city block, a sooty building, you settled into a chair with your legs and hair up and your face adjusting to that new weather right after the TV's been turned off. Hello. Just past the hill here is the truckstop borealis. This is Barkeyville. Maybe we could argue over ice cream.
From Big Back Yard by Michael Teig, published by BOA Editions, Ltd. Copyright © 2003 by Michael Teig. Reprinted by permission of the author and publisher. All rights reserved.