the wedding of ignatz

MONICA YOUN

Weight
is the end

of wanting.

The simples
gleaming

in their rests.



In the game called
hypothesis

an orange

is gripped between the chin
and shoulder

then is transferred

to the chin
and shoulder of

the next-in-line. Then

a flaming log
is rolled

into the river. Then

a chalk circle
is drawn

around each plate.



One day I walked
to the window

robed in the loveliest
robe of the year.

One day I knelt down
by the fountain.

A crown of parsley
a crown of dill.

One day my hands
closed on the handles.

A match tip was placed.
beneath my tongue



“Listen to me – someone
has tricked you.

There never was an apple.”

To continue reading, please seeTin House #25