Oblique Strategy

RETRACE YOUR STEPS


I'm assembling photographs, touching fire
to film, touching fist to table. My grandmother &
her tank, my grandfather's snow beard, my endlessly
purple face, the perpetual canteen, the hint of a knife
in the water. The trampling of cows.

Filled with fluid, the problem of history. In science,
edema. Fear like a wet balloon, collapsed & frothy.
The piano sinks in the corner, sullen & ashy. The keys
have seen failure, have seen the blood seep through
the floorboards, a portrait of grief. I touch flame
to wood, fist to brick.