With the bodies
of my discarded pages
I could cut a
school of slanting fish
I could lift
a flock white bone of bird,
I could rain
crumpled moons,
watch them sink.
With the bodies
of my discarded pages
I could collate
a book of ‘the’
the letter ‘a’ the word
‘and’. I could sift
a lexicon of new starts
slip them over lines of grey strung chords
With the bodies
of my discarded pages
I could tear out lines
like babies’ hearts.
I could crush
their paper weights,
I could tip
their tangled sighs and darts,
their breathy throats
into the waste
disposal of my building.
I could let them fly
the long way down.
If I could bear
to see their faces.
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