Two Poems by Robert Balun

Self (Map of a Napkin)

I follow your memory
against the busy world

push back

no we
made way
for you
made up your place for you (here) so we wouldn’t get lost

first you thought
an ocean
then you swam in it

called it the birthplace of vessels

we haven’t become sandy beaches
we are still being worn
away
inside the surrounded by
prismatic
inflecting
morass of time
spent in
this
life
there is always
someone trying to get
out of the body

an ambulance drives by and the bar looks like an artery

Self (City)

it feels earlier than it is
no it feels later
let’s just say it is never the time it is supposed to be

let’s just say I am way behind on all this new breath

let’s not say I can’t catch it
it lingers

it’s easy to disappear
here or there

it’s never the time it is supposed to be

I don’t remember when
exactly

I ate the dream
you
left in my pocket

the luster of those years shimmering away

let’s just say I’ve never left the woods

Robert Balun is an MFA candidate at The City College of New York. His poems have appeared (or will soon) in Smoking Glue Gun, Shampoo, Word Riot, Heavy Feather Review, Keep This Bag Away From Children, and others. He is one of the founders/curators of the Bushwick Sweethearts reading and art series.