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Vol. I
Issue 3
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About My Memory, Pete
By Simone dos Anjos
In a bad state, I begin to feel
we are in the country again,
this time forever, worse, this time
for the last time forever.
I begin to feel a wind that already
reaches far away,
though at present collects
around me; to feel yesterday
advancing, not yet complete.
Places take a little time to leave.
And in smells of things I anticipate
the arrival of a past self,
stepping out of familiar weather
and longing’s failure to amass itself
to more. Objects seem to wait
for a morning I won’t appear to.
Cut loose, linen closet. Cut loose,
crestfallen apartment.
Not before I have a turn of thought
do I appear to myself.
What sleep isn’t more than a nightly
hesitation. Dismal lives for happening.
And then I move north,
using up our thinning future
Copyright © Simone dos Anjos
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Simone dos Anjos is a co-founder of Parsifal Press and co-edits The Modern Review.
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