Brandon Shimoda – 2 Poems

Brandon Shimoda

2 Poems

Bacon Before Sleep

Monday 30 April My shadow straightened in strips before me: “Goodnight,” to the heart, which pulls itself through the haze. “Goodnight,” to the breath, which turns the wheel and pumps my shadow through; always keeping keeping pace, out of breath and step, the sun against my back. It’s easy to do wrong when you’re preoccupied with moving images – easy to swallow them down – each image flecked with white and lying in rows. I dream of length. May I go now? May I go now? May I go now beneath the blue flame? Bacon Before Sleep Tuesday 1 May At the end of the day, my body sings in sizzles, releasing the waste of what I didn’t say, or couldn’t, to everyone walking running green through blue sizzles. I look for this.  I spend the day looking for this, and I find things pounded and flattened into shapes. The size of which, the shape of which. I can’t, or told, or tell me now: what reeks?