What if everything were revealed: where I was last night. You, etc. The rain is coming down like salad. My sister's hair reminds me of my sister so much I can't stop looking. Who am I to have arms? On the plane one short dream: a baby so small it wasn't even human, just a bouquet of light with wise cellular
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You might think you are not thinking, but you are.
A thought moves from dirt up through me and if I do not
disabuse it, it grows.
To suffer, to bear from below.
Coming down the mountain I could see a reservoir through the
trees, fat and glowing.
You are alone in your one life and no one will enter your
Teenagers sit on the sign outside the nunnery.
We are so afraid of failing we can't live.
So we leave apartments, not breathing, breathe on the way
The potential is not the actual.
I was not a good skateboarder.
As we allow for suffering, we live.
You took a picture of me at sunset, thighs drying roses against
an orange sky.
“This alone is deathless and everlasting”
In the dark we know one another finally.
I can be as you as I am.
“The mind-body problem”
You did things to block out the light.
Yes, another reference to morning.
When I am feeding myself I hate myself.
I was younger and not planning on dying.
In the forest between trees we dismantle thought.
Bed of summer branches, us gently.
“Much learning does not teach the mind”
And, walking across the road to the post office, able to see the
You: I googled “If you postpone love will it not end?”
To feel you have to exit the body.
To use a higher mind is to be part of the cosmos.
Then she lowered her voice to a rasp and told those assembled
There are no edges.
Waiting on the patio with whiskey, girl, they said, he’s not
The ethical implications of thinking.
In order to understand nature do we have to die?
Affixed to us driving the road to a mountain lake.
One must stay diligent to avoid becoming a symbol.
Let us bow down and never leave the island.
Me: “Did you think my angry phase would end?”
A day, a peeling scrim.
The moon looks into our lion mouths.
The mind’s hedge in an empty neighborhood.
If god is reason the mind is dead.
Ornate Senate of Loss, Call Me Forth to Announce Myself as
You’ll use what I taught you to manipulate others.
This gives me sad pleasure.
Emily Kendal Frey
Emily Kendal Frey is the author of Sorrow Arrow (Octopus Books, 2014). She teaches at The Independent Publishing Resource Center, Marylhurst University, Portland Community College, and Portland State University. She lives in Portland, Oregon.