from Mined Muzzle Velocity

Dear,                                            November
What do you think of the statue?
Nothing like it in the world. I walked
all the way around & touched
when the guard had turned back. Fawn
Seeking Favor. Oh, Dear, I could not help
but think of you. The guard concealed
his weapon & I risked a great deal.
Have I shown you the real skeleton key
I have? It is filed but opens no real locks.
It is real, though. Are you asking
where the name came from. Well,
my guess is it is supposed to support
what is softest, like any closet.
Are you asking if I tried between
the fawnís pursed, fur-locked lips because
it begged in behavior. I could have risked
a great deal. You named it. All faucets
I try lately—dried up. Do not
remember what it is to have moist breaks.
& the size of my body is the size of my
bed. Nothing is easy, yous. This IS
meant for yous. I was saying, though:
the intensity fawn. Look for it
online, maybe. Are you asking if I get
all your e-mails. Do you send them?
Last time I checked, I had thousands
in bulk. One from Conscious—Shed It,
I was encouraged. Like a grown male
heady growth. Do not look for it online—
nevermind. You need to see these things
in the round. Plans for Thanksgiving?
Are you really asking thanks
this year. I do not know where I sleep.
As always, I remain Yrs.
Enveloping prevents openness to sky.
I suggest you quell all urges
to encase but NOT to enumerate.
As in: count on, but do not close on.

Dear,                                            November
This oneómore critical. After almost
deciding to call it a day, I felt I needed
to write: remember when your selflessness
was displayed in notable contrast to my
selfishness? Remember when you knew
the situation through me, only through me,
& so it had glaring effect, your offer
to accompany me there. Remember I said no
it takes forever to get to that place.
That was appalling.
Remember I went to the bathroom directly.
To brush my teeth, gain a taste
& I donít know if you could hear me,
but I went too far & gagged, basically
losing it into the plugged-up sink,
slow & old. Exiting, you never
would have guessed from my face,
or the mint of my breath, because
I did not, in fact, end up yakking.
Remember or did this not occur. Did
the dreams not start again which wake me
at inconvenient hours. In neck-sweat
& freaked the fuck out, but thatís more about
me (again) than the ones itís really about.
Little vials you take in a certain order,
friendly promises of The Other Side.
Well, just remembering.
The ins & outs of effect. Studies
in contrast & gesture.

Pls. donít spread it around, impatience &
neglect, Yrs.

Ekleksographia #2

July, 2009


Jennifer H. Fortin

Jennifer H. Fortin lives in Brooklyn and works for the environment. She has poems forthcoming in Copper Nickel and Blackbird and edits, with three other poets, the new poetry journal LEVELER.