Cami Park

I have only one house

In How to, Poetry, Science on September 4, 2010 at 8:06 pm

circular motion does zero work
Evelyn Hampton

To attract a swarm of bees, hang a dark box
inside me. Is it my heart or my heart in my hands?
If only I could look closer I would be able to
understand the difference between modern buildings and the
people who built them. The nurses have blood on
their hands and I am the one who has to tell them. A bad
sign, I say, by opening and closing my drawer of
undies. Springs, slinkies, drill bits, and augurs
give the illusion of movement. A man leaves
by getting smaller than my door. A man comes in
by getting taller than my door. This table behaves
more and more like a wave every day. It interferes
with what I am trying to say about the weather,
how it is always hot and gray. The sides of my face
fluctuate randomly, echoing down the hallway. Laughter
the portraitist cannot paint floats to the ceiling
in a photograph of the hallway. Cease to follow the rules
of classical physics and they put you in a room where
four walls are so close together time hardly passes
except to say Bless you and Pass the tissue? At night
I can hear where I put my keys walking behind me. I have only
one house, but I see its doorway everywhere in the
forest. It grows from topsoil I would call enormous.

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