Aaliyah Anderson | A Poem

And maybe the sublime doesn’t work.

I’m sure goblins whisper to me. I say,      some painters

don’t think. You blink and blink and

aren’t able to understand their hissing

is toast deviating sodium.       Twigs, please

stop swapping greetings for

theme (meaning nothing).

Maybe diction is definitive, though I

don’t want it to be. I’m sure Monet evaporates,

but he’s deafening, screaming extend, extend, extend.