by Daniel Simko
Go on and on.
It is a fact that now you understand the music.
The kind that is played quickly, and in terror.
The one whose skull you last saw sunning itself.
Yet it is important to carry on,
to continue speaking
in the arrested voice you once used in a different language.
To simply continue speaking.
The one whose skull you last saw sunning itself.
It is bothersome to exorcise history.
It is just a flat row of wheat, a cut poplar.
As for trees, they always remain singular.
What else is there to say, and how many ways to say it
You, being the I.