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Fukushima Forever || Brooke Ellsworth

Fukushima Forever



Dear Friend,

I am looking at the thorny geometry of your death

cities, of filial silence  We climb the attic steps

in secret and lay there under the torn insulation,

More happy love    More happy love

Who are we    At first

the arrangement of our pants, cursive

Here are some thoughts with forest branches    Some background when considering

my application for the development grant of radical transactions of seduction

I am lost in my price

The progress of physics is unsystematic unlike the samba he said in a surely you’re joking tone of voice The result being a series of firsts that seem to bring about the usual shoulder shrug seen after subsequent explosions    This is sufficiently consolidated and entered constantly    It assumes sometimes too easily that results are secure and the house advances, thereby laying itself

Open to further defenestration

The naked ape is counting money, the attic allows

A new generation appears and assumes the uncritical enthusiasm of youth

Doubts ease through the tentative gropings of the subway

Short-lived panting and warm foreheads    Question,

Do you believe it’s possible that nostalgia would reorganize the civilian    I feel

for you all the time

I will not catalogue the many horrors of this world that could be reduced or eliminated    If it were embodied in the technologies that    You know these troubles    They are your carefully unrolled lungs, balanced    You named them after the books on your mother’s shelf    Come to think of it, I happen to be one of them  We brassed every pair of boots placed in front of us

Fenestra Fenestra    This is House Speaker chanting at each other over aperitifs

as they slowly back away in dynamic

antagonism    I can see all of this through the ceiling

these objectives are mutually unafraid

and as a result

to convey something of

probity and fucking

when    I’m not supposed to

I’ve learned all I can from sea stars

By chance you choose not

to look because you know nothing

can be seen, what’s possible and

what’s not    Heard melodies are cloying,

those unheard are cloying,

and yes,

I think you agree with me

in advance





Fukushima Forever



I challenge children to silence his deathcity geometry,

I am lookingdearfriend

We are on the secret climbing We are the first whoceiling light, cursive on the plane




Brooke Ellsworth is author of the chapbook, Thrown (The New Megaphone 2014).  She has poems in or forthcoming in Coconut, DIAGRAM, Artifice, The Volta and elsewhere.  She lives in Queens, NY and teaches at Parsons.