And I am clean, / by this squat brick stack I am clean. / As aluminium-scuffed rust / am I clean.
Disparities assemble
between the ethics of words,
to keep them sealed tightly
or let them unfurl,
absinthe leaves
against the nausea of cleanliness,
And I am clean,
by this squat brick stack I am clean.
As aluminium-scuffed rust
am I clean.
In a dream,
the Doña came to me
in a time of great need,
and I shook upon that ocean,
heart pounding like a drum,
though my face – blank
as a limestone pillar.
Then the doña was me
as I hate to fear and crave it.
Her hardships strewn over some
distant hill – and me?
No longer seasick,
But I am clean,
by this straw windmill I am clean.
As a hard-wrung bath cloth
am I clean.