Lydia Unsworth Just Found Herself

THERE ISN'T A PROFESSION THAT LEAVES A LASTING IMPRESSION


I tried hard to forge the words that would keep death away,
only to learn that
even a composer
decomposes.

At which point;

I vowed not to work for the rest of my days,
only to learn that
even a passenger
passes away.




I DREAM OF MOTORWAY TRAFFIC


i see myself looking both ways at the side of a motorway
all else running across my sight
in either one or the other direction.

i grow downward
my feet stick to the soil
my toes creep throughout the earth's minus numbers
my knees bend like old wood
my elbows crutch the hands that clamp that neck
these hands that point this face toward that road
and then my gaze
hoisted atop my two hard shoulders
switching from left to right.

from a left to a right that it will never squint to reach

neither direction will sway me
neither direction can compel me meet its chevrons
i am a feast in the grass
i am brother to these files of streetlights

and so between this bulb’s modest efforts and the blaze of that sun
i find i am constantly illuminated.


i am standing there still
and i know
that either destination would suffice.







2007 or 2008