Chair People

There is a cold space           (now).

It knows.

When I was about ten,

I went into the garage.

I sat by the big meat freezer.

When the cold space looks back at me,

I have long hair.

                                             (My hair is short.

                                  Somebody cut my hair.

                                  This destroys me.)

The whole image is wooden     (now),

Please understand,

I love her.

It’s not that I let some(one)thing go.

It’s that long hair.

I told him everything.

                           (and then,

                           I told her everything,

                          and him, and     )

It does not feel soft.

I have dripped my face into it for years.

Tonight it really does love me.

I cried and talked in the empty garage,

and the chair                        (opposite)

was patient.

The sun is rising,

and I feel nauseous

from crying and not eating.

It is necessary                      (that I make)

to make these offerings.

How else will I not lie?