Chandler Lewis
“What the Author Was…”
for Anselm B
What the author was to the writer:
How it all comes out in the endWhat the excess is to the soup pot:
stuck in the mesh, what floods won’t floodHow urgent the sun’s grouse:
How belittled we feel in the morningThe last time we saw the last one we saw:
the first time we saw the first sun at allThe rest brought below what was tangent’s light:
the way we heft our truck, we belong to these housesfuck this town, all the gold’s gone anyhow:
only the windshield shines light on you now.