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Leaving the Woods House (Sonnet) by zodiac

We bushel-basketed the stereo, lamps, found everything under the couches damp from Lord-knows-what - mouse droppings in the cupboards. I cut the grass, she boxed rabbit-ears, stacked books in crates. We left the couches, fucked on the floor. And then one moment the house was ours, and then it wasn't ours. It's easy enough to leave a thing: you tell yourself the thing you love is gone: the girl bent over the sink is new, this house is new each now to the next. You let it go, the truck butts out into the dawning world, the boughs waving aren't even farewells, nor tenterhooks.

zodiac 26-Aug-05/4:59 AM
Have you read some of the comments on poemranker lately? Nothing, I'd say, is too simpleminded to be believable.

That said, since posting the poem, I'm kind of taken with the idea of something being a discrete thing every instant of its existence (ergo you have no emotional connection to the thing it is this instant now, now, now, only a series of emotional connections to the different things it was in previous instants.) Call me simpleminded, but my wife just went back to live in America for my last year of Peace Corps service, so it kind of helps to think so. Incidentally, I read my idea the same as your "one moment ends and another begins" reading. What am I missing?




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