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　　by Mark Ford

　　Unwinding in a cavernous bodega he suddenly

　　Burst out：——Barman， these tumblers empty themselves

　　And yet I persist； I am wedged in the giant eye

　　Of an invisible needle. Walking through doors

　　Or into them， listening to anecdotes or myself spinning

　　A yarn， I realize my doom is never to forget

　　My lost bearings. In medias res we begin

　　And end： I was born， and then my body unfurled

　　As if to illustrate a few tiny but effective words

　　But——oh my oh my——avaunt. I peered

　　Forth， stupefied， from the bushes as the sun set

　　Behind distant hills. A pair of hungry owls

　　Saluted the arrival of webby darkness； the dew

　　Descended upon the creeping ferns. At first

　　My sticky blood refused to flow， gathering instead

　　In wax-like drops and pools； mixed with water and a dram

　　Of colourless alcohol it thinned and reluctantly

　　Ebbed away. I lay emptied as a fallen

　　Leaf until startled awake by a blinding flash

　　Of dry lightning， and the onset of this terrible thirst.