Transmission

I’m overcome

by the cruelty

of nature

no I mean

I’m with

it. And each

little capacity

it has

can’t be transferred

I mean

a spruce

can’t give

its oils to you

can it.

But that’s how

it grows

in the ab

sence of

technology

my thoughts

grow. My thoughts

grow among

trees

but I don’t

help them

though

I’m for them.

I’m for my

dog & inci

dentally

I feed

her but I

don’t see

her much.

Joe does.

Joe is

my friend

& also

a dog father

I don’t

help mountains

Mountains

help me

I know

the planet

is old

& splashy

sleep helps

me. Time

helps

me. My mother

helped

me. And

now she

is gone. She

also hurt

me so it’s

good that

she’s gone.

I can grow

different

in the

day or

three decades

in which

I’ve got

left

I can

grow toward

the mountains

sit in solidarity

with prisoners

or go

to jail. I’m not joking

I can

push different.

I want

to say

something

about my cunt.

Because

that’s

what you

ask. But

I am

alone. No

mother

no phone

just a notebook

& a cunt

& my thoughts.

I don’t

even think

my thoughts.

You do.

More Poems by Eileen Myles