The Who and the What

Life, Poetry

 

–For Jacques Derrida

Each morning we awake

to the death of our fantasies:

She with straight, silky hair

He with abs taut as

djembe drum skin

She with eyes a frosty marine,

He with upper-body

sculpted & defined

She less assertive, more docile;

He more intelligent, less obtuse

someone we can each wake up to

without loathing or regret,

without pity or guilt,

A body baring a dream,

not an authentic being.

 

 

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Life, Poetry

 

––A name spilling out

its nostalgic glut.

––A lamp alit by the window

Sill in night’s lonely recesses

––n, The place where one lives or was brought up, 

with reference ton the feelings of belonging, comfort, etc.,

––A locution of being, too fluid

For its structure, its meaning.