Letter Home. 30/05/09 (For Tim Wright)

Over here, computer stores are called names like
Cassandra. Now you can choose to believe that or not,
like any name, but we best not turn
on each other. People’s hands are so hard
and they are so stark, that all of their hair
is falling out. It ends up on keyboards.
We collect them individually and plait them
one strand at a time for strength, and then
wrap them slowly around our necks in hotel rooms.
We are like big fingers with rubber bands
twisted over and over. Everybody’s eyes
get smaller and smaller. We put on round,
classic glasses and they get bigger for a bit,
but then pull away again, into middle distance,
then what we call background. Do you think
I’m skeptical about language? Some things
should be spelt differently, right? The word
broom could be sweeper. Do you ever listen
to one language as if it’s another? I once
read the word fingerfuck in a book.

The voices sound like Russian now:
the sound of peanut butter on the tongue,
violin bows and other bent things, crew-cut
bacon rinds.

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One Response to Letter Home. 30/05/09 (For Tim Wright)

  1. ah.. thank you – great! i only just discovered this strange letter home – like the postcard arriving home after you do. just before i read it i had been thinking over the word cassandra after reading walter benjamin called one. was it someone who could feel the future – they knew how bad it was going to be, and so their pessimism was enriched? this poem makes me think of several things. i am impressed you managed to integrate the word ‘fingerfuck’ in it – from one of all possible tim wrights

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