A N N E X     P R E S S      2 0 1 5

STEVE BENSON       05 05 15

We begin again robbing ourselves blind
for we are each other and don’t know anything
      whether or not this deserves your forgiveness
   listen to this crude tale of hunger and illusion
        Hideous materialization of raw so-called
facts – the gunk of destiny
  It’s a joke he said, to tell me how terrible
he feels things are. Where, in the structure, is humor
 located, or dynamic. My hands are wired
together in the emergency room and kept hot
                   I could archive fate. Memory shuffles
cards in the back of my head. I awake when
the occasion commands. I don’t want to stay
up late. Therefore I get up early
      I could achieve fact. We do go on, in and out
of contact and identification, synchrony and
disinterest. Wake up! Go away! Voices in the head
repeat themselves in other people’s eyes
                                        You could have been anybody
Your body was your own, in your mind
     decaying and rebuilding as an event
  Your hair hangs in your face. The wind
blows your hair forward and back. This
               is not craft. This is fate. This is love
draining my body which is my mind in the form
you gave it           by fascinating it, partly
             with your body, partly with your heart
on its uncanny course of pivots and redoubts
Strain my eyes to see into yours, relax
   Fours works. Writing in fours works, fives
Breathing in fours, however that means for you
            Do you miss me?  Where are you?
Standing by the fence, walking on the boardwalk
   you see the noose hanging in midair, small gasp
slips through   –   past and future loop
         beyond the wavering span of attention
Someone who is not here sends a message
          Do you know what you want to do? Does it
     It’s the principle of the thing I get carried away with
Does it fragment your soul?  The glue
          that holds the you to something else?



[03 10 - 03 24 2015]