by T. Liem
There was a universe in which I was useful.
It wasn’t great.
Payment fulfilled desire with erroneous accuracy.
I had everything and it was too much.
I taped the light switch on. I ate glitter.
The bright brightened til the point of hurt. The definition, hard to watch.
I don’t know what that was all about.
Maybe strawberries, maybe roses.
Did you notice a move to refute grounding details?
Kites wielded by my enemies took credit for the eclipse when I knew it was a body.
I swore it was.
Joint pain flared up. It was about to rain. Some people believed this.
Meaning kept meeting its makers so casually I became suspicious of language.
I hate that.
Meet me at the rose farm. It’s b.y.o. cut-resistant gloves.
What do you say about anything.
I’ll cover you if you can’t afford it right now. Don’t forget to stretch. Legend has it a penny in
the vase makes the roses look more alive.
There is a use for shame, less for symmetry.
T. Liem is the author of the poetry collections Slows: Twice, and OBITS.. Their writing has been published in Apogee, Plenitude, The Boston Review, Grain, Maisonneuve, Catapult, The Malahat Review, The Fiddlehead, and elsewhere. They live in Montreal / Tio’Tia:ke, unceded Kanien’kehá:ka territories.