AJ Kimmerly, July 2013

Sessions: A Black Room, to Start



she says, be here now.


but he keeps drifting:

where is the edge of this ocean?


can i get a wall to scratch?

she says, draw out your sorrow—


is it one-dimensional? are the roots red?

he says he found a stick


but cannot reach sand


he says he found a stick


but forgot to pack his hands.

he drifts deeper, wonders if


‘we’ is inherently polarized:

west/ east.


in the water, there is no direction


but under.


right brain, left mood:


all of it, like all of we, dysphotic.




he winces,


is a wet gauze—


a man’s skin, chilled


by photons (closeness, a woman’s tepid


touch).  she says


the room’s too warm;


turn on the light.

Promote. Poetry.
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