DANA LEVIN

Judd Boxes

Marfa, Texas

a book on the Louvre
and a cigarette box

a room without them
was peace

them: meaning           anyone else

                   ―

sometimes, like they were made out of water
sometimes, like they were made out of light
Boxes          with their sides disappearing

                   ―

with their insides rippling
triangle pillows

on the couch in squares
where you could
be without speaking

childhood living room

                   ―

how like other souls you had
made the choice, but

shape without you is clean

in the country of aesthetics
where you stood stock still
trying          not to breathe―

no solace in people
but in things