Dear Professors,
With some regret (not all) I write
to inform you my thesis has changed.
All fine the topics of the voice, and the sex
it becomes as we train it well,
or fatten vocal chords with needles
or by the rasp and sputter of burning paper,
But I have decided to write now,
instead of singing, or speaking, about
breathing. (Though maybe
whispering passes, broadly
speaking as my new object of study
—unaccountable death rattles or otherwise
capturable voices of dead subjects,)
However I will say, I considered the shout as well
—I'm sure you know just recently was the day
of remembrance, and there was the drama
between the former church, where dreary hymns were sung
low for the dead, so as to make their stillness at least beautiful
and outside at the Homomonument there were plenty hot
voices ragged in anger, for those dead too—ostensibly also
speaking as the dead—darkly to calm or brightly to
arouse our ghosts, and it would have been pleasurable
as much as a sex on fire, which is not to say
it would not have been a catharsis, but I elected
to stay inside and work on my abandoned thesis instead
—some regret!—
and alone on the balcony by the pigeons heard wind pulsate
my windows and my own arhythmic breaths.
(I thought of putting up a wind chime, which
besides wind perhaps would record the monotony
of shouting from those removed bodies.)
More recently I've also taken to wearing headphones
on walks even as my phone is dead. I find that
I hear the shuffle of my coat well against the worn
leather pads, which I understand to mean something
profound, on the order of language, all the same the wire
brushing on my hand, and my misaligned teeth
chattering softly with my steps and portending
the surgery I should one day have on my jaw.
All this should be good material to pin down
for my thesis, I believe you will agree,
as objects to restore order to or else capitalize upon
and as such render obsolete displays such as
those at the Homomonument recently,
I have also considered the manners in which my breath
or at least the sounds of my continued momentum
may have modulated over time, but I believe
I have begun thinking of this all too late for me
to have made any record of breath before,
Still I hope this can relate to active study of
the exhalations of corpses, I am
thinking something in re: Tokarczuk,
the wind over the villages and wet hills,
the gaze of the spirit stealing
through time. I spend moments on
Each rainy walk all wraith-like envisioning
these correspondences (via Outlook)
as well, anticipating and mapping grammar
and deepening the borders thereof
(I should hope this is not lazy of me
or otherwise an unbecoming approach
though all students do the same)
Yet regardless. You have been gracious
in granting me this unasked time
to pause and collect, as well as time
to breathe, naturally, so with thirst
I must ask for more graciousness,
if you would give it, such that I may continue
this thesis and conduct field research further
on the contours of air and
the shape of lungs as they compress or decompose (should I acquire a body)
or otherwise morph in aesthetic, topology, function, and desire that
this change to breath even unexpected could be
in accordance with the theory you have kindly imparted
during our many quiet and judging lessons.
Thank you again,