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Chris Tonelli
(TWO CROWS)
What I see
is right; I allow
myself the ethos to
contend with that.
I inhabit the guilt
between it
and me.
Those two crows
were right.
At the top of a frozen
ziggurat of snow, their leaving
has generated
a silence,
a sculpture of everything
in the objectless air.
The violence
of doing nothing.
I’ve been
meaning to rid myself of will.
Without will, there is no
failure. The stillness in the cold
is blessed by chance.
LIFE VEST
The tree is fixed; its
autumn spreads.
Ominous
time and axis, the flock
of geese overhead is a flag;
they honk a prophecy.
I
fasten my life vest,
invent
a hut, or a whole new planet,
to canoe from.
One
with no season
to escape, no
season to return to.
The boat and I
displace experience,
until
there is no lake, until only my
will is left.
It is a bullet;
its hole, a nest.
V of geese,
we’ve been extinct
this entire time.
Evict
me. Evict me. Evict me.
(NAPOLEAN)
I feel
littler than I am.
Nothing
seems possible.
This is the goal—to be
gone. To be the
same size.
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