There is nothing of me but this sleepy thought
of all I might make flare
but can't.
Is this all a stick knows?
to
be a little consenting heat in a man's gloved hands,
a little slipperiness
for light to glance?
These two hours of mine are someone else's.
To be taken and broken ,
to be agreeable
and naked as a stick.
Today I learn what a stick
feels. Nothing.
Nothing but
consent.
Rae Armantrout
PENDING
point of
entry.
(Prestige surrounding 'entry'
bullies passers-by
as melody line
obscures dry fields .
Discrete
bushes
