The Question Mark
A poem written in Boston
It’s kind of hard to believe we are already in December. Yet, when I look back into an earlier part of the year, I do feel the length of the days, their weight— from then to now.
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So now, a poem from 1993, written when I was living for a time in Boston. This is from the collection The Criminal: The Invisibility of Parallel Forces .
Note: on a smartphone, the line breaks may not be accurate. The voiceover is the poem only.
The Question Mark the intellect and the skeleton and the key and the fire (the arm the round head) the question mark on the bottom of the anvil two and three over the black places seven fires have occurred, all in the same place they walk or move without seeming to remember much about distance fast talkers blinded by motion solo bicycle riders coming out of the fog green long coats sweep the streets after the party is over the form is hanging on itself listening here and there small small random collections of black painted numbers made of thin metal brittle unintelligible like grief after a parade am I really imagining this? what does the outside look like from inside the room that is painted and still a hand interrupting I was made for this -- blind I was made for this the motions of past eaters of numbers crowd in on me I was made to listen to the parades that tight machinery which fixes us and closes our faces where am I looking for the black night in the trailing coming afterwards when the film’s done the side street the black shoes the oval windows movie house movie dreams the west shifting west -- train from dreams train from dreams Max Wolf Valerio, October 1993, Boston
Have a wonderful week! And thank you again…