Untitled by Michelle Disler
I meant to charm the words off you.
The fake ransom note might have done it,
but I got tired of channeling the opera channel
in the background of what was passing between us.
I thought that maybe all we needed was a little rearranging.
You know, you could leave the picture and I will charm
the words on the shelf. It could work in the pool
after we tire of the opera, which might fake itself.
My recycling would take you out, and your stories
would get my breaks inspected and the timer switches
on your lights would be set with the picture of me
in the swimming pool that I left on my bookshelf
for you to listen to. And in this world you would give
words for nothing, and I would pay the desperate thing
that grew out of the frosty ground beneath our feet
while I wondered about you in the distance of maybe,
wondered how we had gotten here.