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von Frances Quinlan

Somebody wrote "Tender" in the novel′s margins
As if to remind about a precious force
In the next paragraph, the protagonist
Sat down on the belly of a dead horse

The author, I read, fell from a window
Many stories high
Stretching out to feed pigeons
Or a stray cat depending on the website

Whether or not I have
Or was given a little more time
There just doesn't seem to be much room
For a reply
And it′s possible it only belongs
Where it happened, fine
According to John
Fear softens into doubt
To what do I cling and think is mine
No reply


"Think the last time I came up this way I was younger"
Said your aunt, isn't it a good line?
We found the garden abandoned
And that night became dark over
Chicken and wine

Documentarians tossing lemmings
Stunned over the edge
Wartime juveniles shot and martyred
For the crime of stealing eggs
Dinner, by the way, was divine

I drank the last of the coffee
Waiting for you to rise

Whether or not I have
Or was given a little more time
There just doesn't seem to be much room
For a reply
And it′s possible it only belongs
Where it happened, fine
According to John
Fear softens into doubt
To what do I cling and think is-


Whether or not I have
Or was given a little more time
There just doesn′t seem to be much room
For your reply
And it's possible it only belongs
Where it happened, fine
According to John
Fear softens into doubt
To what do I cling and think is mine
No reply
Reply, no