#max ritvo

[underovercast]

Four Reincarnations, Max Ritvo

[underovercast]

"Universe Where We Weren't Artists", Four Reincarnations, Max Ritvo

[form-function]

[poem-today]

A poem by Max Ritvo

Afternoon

When I was about to die my body lit up like when I leave my house without my wallet.

What am I missing? I ask patting my chest pocket.

and I am missing everything living that won’t come with me into this sunny afternoon

—my body lights up for life like all the wishes being granted in a fountain at the same instant— all the coins burning the fountain dry—

and I give my breath to a small bird-shaped pipe.

In the distance, behind several voices haggling, I hear a sound like heads clicking together. Like a game of pool, played with people by machines.

Max Ritvo (1990–2016)

[underovercast]

Nick Drake, 1971, photog. Keith Morris

“Earthquake Country Before Final Chemotherapy”, The Final Voicemails, Max Ritvo

[havingapoemwithyou]

Afternoon by Max Ritvo

[deadnettle-deadofnight]

[loosejournal]

Cachexia by Max Ritvo

Today I woke up in my body and wasn’t that body anymore.   It’s more like my dog— for the most part obedient, warming to me when I slip it goldfish or toast,   but it sheds. Can’t get past a simple sit, stay, turn over. House-trained, but not entirely.   This doesn’t mean it’s time to say goodbye.   I’ve realized the estrangement is temporary, and for my own good:   My body’s work to break the world into bricks and sticks has turned inward.   As all the doors in the world grow heavy a big white bed is being put up in my heart.