Thursday, January 12, 2006

Britta Kallevang

things in life swell

things in life swell
to the river. i
make my bed at home.
cellar stairs crackle. whispers
come through me to me they say
nothing. nothing comes to mind.
the shadow of a gnat crosses my chest.
i pick up a guitar and this, too, feels somehow.
sorry about the sponge droppings. the
seaweed waves good-bye. this signature, benevolent
omen. the man at the fair, he is there by the gigantic
switch. he pulls he pushes. fair is fair.
i think a nest of doves might be your next. great
feature. mountains make. i know it is mine. swimming
the digestive track, little shards of glass make
a tacit black. a black moment is a forgotten.
a printed thought is a
black, featureless screen. this remains
the same structured chair. white wicker crackles
under fire, losing its structure, hurting its wires. like a
madman’s handshake. his grip.


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