Domestic Sestina.BY DOUG LANG
Is in this room And I don't believe Sherene is ever coming back And I do believe Amy is asleep And I don't know what Geef is doing As I talk on the telephone with Becky about stuff. Becky Talks about Travis and Clare and R.T. and writing and life and stuff. Becky And I talk about things I never imagined And things I never figured I'd be doing Everything is in this room Even Corinna who's in Moscow, asleep And I wonder if I'll ever make it back To Europe, back to Greece back to England, back To Wales. I wonder when Becky Will stop by to go over her poems. When the world is asleep Everything you ever imagined Distilled in the crucible of this room Where what you are dreaming is what you are doing And when you are doing This and how you are doing this is part of an incessant Pattern of energy concentrated in the silence of the room Yesterday Becky Came by with the children and I imagined Them 20 years from now. I'm asleep Again now. I've been alseep For years. I've been doing Stuff, but what I imagined Was different. You can't go back To Paros, Swansea, Harlech, London, Clydach, Waunarlwydd, really. Becky Is a genius. This room Is this room. This poem is this poem. This room Holds its shape, as Amy holds her shape, asleep, And Geef and Sherene and Laura and Steve and Travis and Clare and Becky And R.T. and Pete and Tina and Corinna, whatever they're doing Has gotta be perfect. Back Up a minute. Where's Mo? Mo's dead. I never imagined This room this way before. What I'm doing Is what I am, asleep or awake. Out back There's Becky's old VW fender. Everything is imagined
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