from There Have Been Some Days I Didn’t Know Your Name

August’s incident played over Santa Ana
though my friend thinks they’re warmer
today, my friend gave accordion days
to count. The environment makes for

a typical convention of money
and I’m certain I smell sugar on a
prophylactic Sunday. To hear ourselves
brightly opens the flue on whatever
doesn’t (lightning) transmit, you have to
be in it, to radio the mind for months of
talk worth letting go to only then let it
back in. My nephew is 8 and empathic
and will be 9 soon. I could go to the store1
but there are others to think of to be
considerate of irrational plays.

Slim slow he said against the kitchen wall
which tended light from plausible objectives
and rain-bent shadows. Refusing assumptions
of reference, I allow myself to wonder in
the raft of an old dream that keeps coming
to me in the day when I don’t know if
its form begs the future or another world
from before. These poets lack humility
and grace when they’re on the internet.
I moved to close the machine as any
instrument will only help as much as
awfulness, when anyone asks trust-fall
off the back of a wagon in a hillside town
in The Netherlands. Trying to do what
waves us without regress, that is my capable
feast my flotsam cave, my intention to
love without clauses or lockstep

to know what I think without the scenery
feeling on cue. I think you’d make
a beautiful stone mid-step in a century
colliding with the virtues of children
in black and white films—it can’t be
listening so much as adjacent attitudes
toward the faulty limits of my attempts
at language. I’m here without my
notebook, let the phrases come and
go on as surely as I won’t recall
the haphazard modes of production
(true)—I’m an inconsistent bowler
and haven’t minded losing
since the Bat Mitzvah, all the
world that comes to be a tacit
letdown after the Sunday that
falls after it: a tomb. To experiment
in wildness I drew several versions
of myself, there’s no difference
to bleed off script which denotes
I wash my hair twice each week.
A hall with aired windows and
a Hebrew aleph-bet as a place
to put your head down, thumb up.2

  1. pronto

  2. it wasn’t me

Amanda Nadelberg (© 2017)