Standing Under a Willow Tree by the Singularity on the Edge of a Black Wholeness
Beatriz Seelander
My moon churns like butter the night that happens
to me there’s nothing easier than assigning blame
what’s tough is taking reality at its word
my words often ring like a landline
in an office on a weekend
Whatever there is between the universe and us
Whatever wormholes end up consuming the hollows of my eyelids
Don’t you trust the mournful song extending arms and kindnesses
Don’t you trust obits or epitaphs
You alone have known me and taken me at my word
that nothing means anything
until it loses meaning
and then again, leaking
rueful and ruffled like ravens, like vultures
weeping willows corner us, redundant
I used to soak and sulk under these leaves
they used to mean something, I think
they did
Beatriz Seelaender is a Brazilian poet who's appeared in Litmora before! The truth is out there - it depends on whether you want to believe on not. For her part, she's been in possession of an alien in dog's clothing for eight years now, and they're inoffensive if you feed them.