The Maynard
Spring 2014

Daniela Elza


                                    it has been years
            and the hours are still stacked
against the odds            gleaming

I must have known you no other way
            but this—a disappearing tail of lights
                        in the mist

and the lyrics of the song get obscured
            just when I most need to hear them.


we sit                 you and I
like cold            separate            facts
bound               in the conviction
            of our own existence

a point of view
                        with no where to go.

a good conversation is a form
of transportation            we do not
            seem to take anymore.

it is not in the facts
            but in their harmony
            :says Rabindranath Tagore:

that truth is found.

we sit across from each other
hard            cold            facts
                        with no where to go.


we are the dark matter we have been
looking for.                        at night the silence
is so palpable I can bite into it.

I have been putting these shards together
to see what we amount to—
end up reclaiming the pots emptiness.

we disappear down the corridor’s
black hole.                        I keep repeating—
open your blue mind

and ports of call will become visible.
water + me = a small existential moment
I can swim in             against all odds.


the GDP of our together                climbs to
dizzying heights
                        Gross—      indeed
                        Domestic—      definitely
                        Product—      no thank you.

the crows sound angrier this year
and I do not know why.

we get processed through pale hallways
the unbearable stink of            painfully polite.
those fluorescent pretensions
                                    so bad for your eyes.

just the title
            says the man behind the desk
                                                no poem please.

we sign papers with the velocity of
celebrities. disappear into posh rooms

full of words            from which
                                            no one comes back.