[…]


Chandler Lewis

“What the Author Was…”
for Anselm B



What the author was to the writer:
How it all comes out in the end

What the excess is to the soup pot:
stuck in the mesh, what floods won’t flood

How urgent the sun’s grouse:
How belittled we feel in the morning

The last time we saw the last one we saw:
the first time we saw the first sun at all

The rest brought below what was tangent’s light:
the way we heft our truck, we belong to these houses

fuck this town, all the gold’s gone anyhow:
only the windshield shines light on you now.

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