an·o·dyne

Utterly inundated

sliced orange-green-yellow-white

splashed red

find the inside of a thought

that suggests that texts are not timeless,

the mouth howls insistently

Émissions de Télévision en Français

head in her hands

hope at the tip of fingers

a question - Coleridge or Beckett? - 

searching for Heathcliff and Catherine

covered in false information, misleading steps

cradling Isabella in the palm of her hand,

she reaches for the sea of crawling foam,

Paraît que le bonheur est à portée de main
alors on tend la main et on se retrouve fou,

which every modernist has to some extent inflicted,

happiness within our grasp to be laughed at,

"Everything she said was like a secret voice

speaking straight out of my bones," said Sylvia,

and close by a poet placed a jar in Tennessee,

good joke, je suis folle, but que sera sera

je ne sais pas si je veux ceux-ci ou ceux-là.