visiting a past self. Being anywhere makes me thirsty.
When I wake, I ask God to slide into my head quickly before I do.
As a boy, I spit a peach pit onto my father’s prayer rug and immediately
it turned into a locust. Its charge: devour the vast fields of my ignorance.
The prophet Muhammad described a full stomach as containing
one-third food, one-third liquid, and one-third air.
For years, I kept a two-fists-long beard and opened my mouth only to push air out.
One day I stopped in a lobby for cocktails and hors d’oeuvres
and ever since, the life of this world has seemed still. Every night,
the moon unpeels itself without affectation. It’s exhausting, remaining
humble amidst the vicissitudes of fortune. It’s difficult
to be anything at all with the whole world right here for the having.
© Kaveh Akbar 🔒
Some other random works of this poet:
- Forfeiting My Mystique
- I Wouldn’t Even Know What to Do with a Third Chance
- My Kingdom for a Murmur of Fanfare
- Orchids are Sprouting From the Floorboards
- Morning Prayer with Rat King
- A Boy Steps Into the Water
- Against Vanity
- Ways to Harm a Thing
- What Use Is Knowing Anything If No One Is Around
- Look, the Human Is Shrinking
- Pilgrim Bell
- Waiting for the Twelfth
- Exciting The Canvas
- River of Milk
- Despite My Efforts Even My Prayers Have Turned into Threats
- No Is a Complete Sentence
- Tower of Babel
- Against Dying
- Portrait of the Alcoholic Floating in Space with Severed Umbilicus
- The Perfect Poem
- What Seems Like Joy
- The New World
- Reza’s Restaurant, Chicago, 1997