Oh, November--
my bête noire,cabinet of cold rain,sinister capitan of snow,avant garde of Winter,tree-stripper, soil-sealer,gloom-injector, glum puritan.Oh, November, neitherenemy nor friend, just adoom-inducer, a sour neighbor,a moldy blanket, a day-cutter,a sun-shrouder: youare a head-cold kind of month.
hans ostrom 2024
Take my hand, draw
me to your warmth.Show me what youwant me to want.Unconfuse me. Simplify,eye to eye. I'm so tiredof being supposed to know.So show what you knowI want, what you want.Clearly you know. You knowclearly. Into your warmth I go--a room, a place, a bed, a world,a dream with walls and pillows,perfume, talk, and linen. Sotake my hand.
hans ostrom 2024
Tried receiving, not
broadcasting. Sat nextto a tree, took ina breeze, leaf rustle,taps and clicksof shoes passing,my lungs & heartpumping. Walkedin a crowd as No One.Among bodies, feltthe muscle, bone, fatflow of fabricked bodies,dances of passing, jostling,slipping-bay, stop-starting.Engines, motors, voices,glass reflections, smoke,all of it as it was, justitself, not a message,just signals received.
hans ostrom 2024
