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Brandon Shimoda – 2 Poems

Brandon Shimoda
2 Poems

Bacon Before Sleep

Monday 30 April

My shadow
straightened in strips
before me:

“Goodnight,” to the heart,
which pulls itself through the haze.
“Goodnight,” to the breath,
which turns the wheel and pumps my shadow through;

always keeping keeping pace,
out of breath and step,

the sun against my back.

It’s easy to do wrong when you’re preoccupied with moving images –

easy to swallow them down –
each image flecked with white and lying in rows.

I dream of length.

May I go now?
May I go now?
May I go now beneath the blue flame?



Bacon Before Sleep

Tuesday 1 May

At the end of the day,
my body sings in sizzles,
releasing the waste of what I didn’t say,
or couldn’t,

to everyone walking running green
through blue

sizzles.

I look for this.  I spend the day looking for this, and I find things pounded
and flattened into

shapes.

The size of which, the shape of which.
I can’t, or told, or

tell me now: what reeks?

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