Sep 21, 2018
I know you’ve been waiting for disintegration, but it just doesn’t seem to be coming.
I need to go out to gather some berries. No more meat: I’ve adopted your diet.
All this time, I thought my shedding would expose a core, I thought I would at least know myself,
but these mild passions, all surface, keep erupting now like acne—or like those berries on a bush.
Don’t ask me to name them— I’ve never been that kind of guy. Red berries—sour, sticky. If you really want to know, come here, just try them.
Red as earth, red as a dying berry, red as your lips, red as the last thing I saw and whatever next thing I will see.
- Max Ritvo, from “The Final Voicemails”