handbound volumes of poetry, prose, and prints

Everyone Is Partial

I remember what that is.

Being partial is a consequence of geography. Or,
geography is a consequence of it.

I do remember the flat blue planes and the cruelty of
the sheer vastness of it -- that what one was attached to
might at any moment pitch one loose.

Geography meant specificity.

I think, maybe poetry could be my lover.

Not having a husband, or a wife, and so needing to be
the split subject.

What was it like, you ask?

It was like swallowing a wire.
It was like having that awareness of your insides by
feeling the presence of the slenderest of hair-like
foreign objects.