The cousin of aleph and ayan and name and creation,
A for the apple, on the branch in the garden
The one you know well, with the snake and the tree.
A for forgetting, as in Alzheimers, aphasia, and anonymously me.
Believe me, it’s true: In the beginning of memories bland
the world crashed to the basement, through the fingers like sand.
Now comes C for correction: That’s a comb, not a fork, so take it out of your mouth.
Can’t remember the word for cereal, for cake, and for couch.
Can’t remember, I can’t, no I can’t. Don’t want to, no doubt.
If D is a dare, dig a ditch deep as a scar and deposit me there
inside all that I’ve done and all that I did. Did
it or known it, let it all fall deep inside.
Every damn book in the stacks, Austen to Yonnondio, all of it gone.
The e that sounds like like A as in Neighbor and weigh,
yes and fashion and facism, forget it, forget
it just let it all be. I don’t need it can’t have it, forsook it so fuck it. It’s gone
anyway. Except for a glove of fine lace,
from elbow to wrist, and a silk Jacket I wore on August the fifth,
when I was given away, and I gave up my name
God help me why did I want so much to hold on to it so.
I just only, I want to—no—
keep going keep going
just want to
If M is the middle then I’m at the end.
Nothing to mend, yes, I’ve gone round the bend. If only I’d meditated
more or stuck with the gym—managed my mental
affairs rather than cut fat to keep thin.
Maybe must maybe,
No, now here I am. Nodding off while you talk there, nodding off in my chair.
Noticing light bursts off in the air, while you smug as satin say nothing is there.
Nothing is everything now, nothing to say
Nothing to do, nothing to wish for, no will to improve.
Oh lord, yes it’s true, O is the mouth, it’s the maw, opening up to oceans of dark.
It’s the wheel that keeps turning beneath the train of no thought.
Pray let me roll out with the whistle, go out with the tide. Pray leave me alone,
I need quiet to die. Quiet to quit this, to question
no more. Quiet’s a country where words are no longer at war.
Quiet, I’m coming. Quiet that’s deep. Remembering nothing
that’s the holiest sleep. Stop
it already, stop
calling me back. If T is the turning
I’ve abandoned the map. If T is for two,
and two is for T, I’m turning it over,
take those saucers away. You’ve lost and I’ve won
if it’s you versus me now, life versus death, if V is for Victory,
I’m holding my breath.
Wax on and Wax off, I’m out of the game.
Wander and wander to the edges of time
a curtain of wonder, the harp’s breath is now mine.
The womb wished me here and the womb had its way.
Exit stage left
or exit stage right
if Y is for yes, then
Z is for night
and that snake in the garden
I’m on the tip of his tongue
if A is forgetting