I have more clutter than you but if I filled this line to prove it
you would turn away
and read ee cummings or something like that
no there’s nothing like that
just take my word for it
that this clutter is a stutter over life
unable to leave behind anything that comes to mind
heart
or eye
clutter stutter
it’s not a speech therapist you need, but a skip
you said to me
and I laughed
and then took a piece of paper and typed your words
stuck them on the near-covered wall
I do that each time you talk to me
stuttering over the memory
the short term memory
wanting to imprint
but you are attached to various parts of my walls instead
all around the house
you are all around the house
and I can’t stop
all that’s implicit in this
isn’t
it’s just more of the same
the power of speech is failing fast as I type more and more
I type more and more
and fill my walls with stolen bits of you
fragmented images and recollections
stuttering over the fact that it’s actually
nothing more than
clutter
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem