on a sailboat cross legged
humming along to the ring of a call
from late last night
“so we could all hang out
they said,
“so we could play a game
they said
there are a few things we have felt by now
(such as)
one can have a landscape for a face
or rays for a head
or
hunger for grace and glints of the dead
rest the tips of your fingers in the speeding water
now you know:
about contrast and seaweed
about mystery and kernels
about tiny tidal waves
about echoes and life jackets
about home
about emptiness
such are
the things that we find out
when one of our ghosts comes along for the ride
another day begins with a plea
begging for aid
some redemption,
some space
--
to take off the helmet of muffled glass wool
a plant wiggles at me, mockingly
. a pause
i take up too many
of my own resources
bending left right and worrying
always about such tightened ties
on my soul’s blue and marked wrists
impossible now to go forth you say,
so it goes in the decaying day
when it starts with a whimper,
a loose, gummy haze
impossible now to go forth
so pray
we lost track again; so the candle is crumbling
skinned down to the wick
eyes hot and glaring
go on against your will
go on for what it’s worth
thread me apart
and simmer my loins
until you make it there
down to the core
gnawed down to the bitter molten core
to be a body in space
to walk along a melting bridge
to slide naked into the lake
to hum with one another’s edge
to hear the trees’ dissonant voices
to seek out nourishment afore the dance
to hold a hand a kite up high
to catch a gaze in glinting sand
to wait for heat to drop at dusk
to extend and stretch and find more ease
to animal around beyond the hours
to paint a picture of rising orbs
to share with you when you’re not there
to think the trick is upon us
to fall through layers of occult current
to watch a fire in the stone
to want a body in space
to feel the light show insecure
to taste the words of searing one
jouissance jouissance jouissance to have
nue par l’échelle
arrêter un temps
celui su par elle
trouvé dans un champs
par champs ouverts
il faut courir,
s'engouffrer
à perdre la voix
la retrouver, pleurer, en jouir
jusqu’aux ors en flammes
y mettre bas
frapper de bleu fantasme nos histoires caprices
émêchées,
bougie de cognac
lueur d’aube,
de sainteté