. . . . .
envelope with stitching
arrives in late September
how was I ever impenetrable
now I am like a cloud
. . . . .
distant foghorns I weep when I think of what you may have written today—
rotting lettuce the erotic stain of ivy on a brick wall
foghorns, the distance between us : ages of grey waves
. . . . .
to travel the roads
alone
to buy a beige jacket
I am learning a second language
all the salt in the air
. . . . .
your law of silence /
the red trees start up at once—a chorus how many monarchs have I seen
they have died together these last four days
I find them floating downward in the
field
. . . . .
there is a climate of charcoal, yarrow
and dead sails
they repair so few of the boats
off season
. . . . .
a man in a brown musty truck calls
fucking faggot out the window
and I fall into concession:
I could not make a dent
walking home from the post office box
even if I held onto his hitch until let go
. . . . .
we would lie in bed with
the widowed sound of foghorns
sometimes I would mount you
like a stag—
. . . . .
I try to taste the smoke in the snow for the fourth night
but find myself unequal
Gabriel Jesiolowski works in a research-based practice using installation, interventionist strategies, painting, performance, printed matter, and poetry to navigate the crossings of art, social processes and emerging practices. A discursive consideration of theories of embodiment, transgender subjectivities and nostalgia have been of particular enduring interest to his practice. Over the past ten years he has taught and collaborated on courses at Cornell University, Southern Maine Community College, Carlow College, and the University of Pittsburgh. He currently works as an independent artist, curator and as a founding member of a collective and residency program: Emergent Ecologies.
