Archive for the ‘Michele McDannold’ Category

By Michele McDannold

I dreamt of living in a rubber room
(my head wrapped around a train)
the whistle
doesn’t sound like a whistle
not like the old western movies

when I say old
(I mean dead, they seem dead)
black and white trapped in a box
must be bones
similar to the pale mornings when I visit the
in the back, where the tiles pull out

no one comes here anymore
not to see the picture behind glass that was Sampson
that was Julia
they don’t notice a dead bird brought in from the rain

the tiles are white
all else is ash grey,
the train sounds
a horn
a horn that won’t let up
on and on, it goes

as it reaches the end of my mind
the sound fades
end of the track
last stand of town
the sound of the rails
a vibration
rattling windows

there are no windows here
only rubber
rubber white and puckered
[in the room, we are back in the room]
with buttons
small, round
looks like a couch
all the way round the room
(you can find death in rooms too)
see the door
is the outlined shape of a door
sticks out from the rest
feels like I could run
run into it
the sound
the sound might go away

Read Full Post »


By Michele McDannold

he reminded me of buscemi
and everywhere it was this guy
how I didn’t intend it
but I was watching
these random occurrences— well,
seemingly. How could it be that stacked
day on day, unrelated, related
a voice-over, a bit movie part
an old favorite
his cigarette dangles at me
you there, you
and this look-alike
how he was always going when
I was coming
to the grocery
around to the laundromat
I wanted to ask him
do you go cold or
risk the fade

Read Full Post »