I am finishing my journey with Emily much earlier than I had contemplated. But it has been so good, so full of adventure that I will miss the daily connection and its intensity.
The last hour underlined a special kind of creativity for the last week. I have been collecting bits and pieces of information, parts of poems, random thoughts on Emily by others or myself.
I had no idea how I could use these when at the conclusion of our writing together (me acting more as a scribe) this poem began to emerge, coordinating all of these leftovers that before had no home.
was i not self-published?
you say my punctuation is ambiguous
and my capitalization capricious
but i know what i am doing
these poems shift and change,
lean right or left according to whom they are addressed
they live in letters, breathe as objects,
manifest fully with multiple perspectives
you can read them, but don’t edit them
their line breaks are for your eye, not your sense of propriety
an aged bee asks
must not people have puddings?
but i make bread.
them when I die
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