Eileen Myles
TO MY CLASS
I'm trying
to figure
out what
kind of fucked
up flower
a reflection
is
when everything
dances
in a bowl
of aluminum
day's on
no extra
light
just the color
scheme
of the gym
& thinking
about that
the tile is that
exact
shade which
is not quite
white
they chose
it and it's
why the
feeling is not
exact
I've got
to lie
down
on the mat
to see
the frond
peeping
through
the
window
sitting up there's
too much
a bending plant
a grille
the whole
life of
the gym
not the tiny
crop
like sitting in a
Muslim
restaurant
and the cow
peeps in
like that
I'm trying to
sort
out a
few things
at this
exact
moment
in my life
something
more
marvelous
than a category
the body
place is
a thinking
place
a surprise
here
a day isn't
a bookshelf
unless its
the endless
process
of
pulling one
down
and hours or
years
later
putting it back
up for
some other reason
among its
new friends
I don't really
need
glasses
to write
but I squint
and gradually
that grows
unfamiliar