Wishing that There Was Another World that Isn’t by John Gosslee


Wishing that There was Another World that Isn’t

This is the apocalypse,

watching the life of a fly

aware of itself, in a jar.


If the arm could pass through the wall into some kind of heaven,

the body could follow, but the hand is tied to the wheel,

the mind to witnessing, and they take the body

through the narrow canal.


There‘s the whisper late at night, a victim in the wall,

when sleep is a heavy-hand

longing for another scrim of land.


I drive into the night

and decide it‘s better to go home,

it’s been so long since I turned back, after going out,

that the return is another kind of moving forward.


The hum of the city, the skateboard wheels,

sports bar toast are like water spots

on the dishes in the sink and nothing is clean.


A body in the ether looks for a door out,

I look above the cars, over the moon swept buildings

for a path, as if I might be a beacon or see a door,

but I remain and no one comes.

John Gosslee edits PANK and directs C&R Press. Project notes at johngosslee.com

Rulo:<Foter.com / CC BY-SA

Flying Bell Water Drop-Explored: Joe Dyer via Foter.com / CC BY