this is me speaking chinese
all it is
is three words for "green vegetable"
and only one for "sad"
a consonant sound at
the beginning of "want"
i am told i have never
pronounced intelligibly
and the three specific meanings
for the three words
"need"
are indistinguishable to me
yet
burn as my skin might
these are the only words
available between us
and my blood runs thinner
and hotter with the possibilities.
aug 17, 12
Axis Mundi
Eternity, a knife stuck
perpendicular in the ground
a blade wide enough
we must squeeze by
flaying our back
or front, which
would you lose
to participate in this prayer
what do you come to sacrifice?
Or on our best mornings we
close our eyes and walk
for hours
with only that shining blade
behind the eyes,
willing it to extend an invitation
an image to intersect
this blind road and spare not
one side of our body
more, but to thickly, as thick
as the million ghosts of stars,
run us through, clean
or not, until our blood coats
both flats of the knife
and we are more eternity
than not, flesh
fallen, shaved from the spine
tender mouthfuls for birds
of death and resurrection.
aug 17, 12
perpendicular in the ground
a blade wide enough
we must squeeze by
flaying our back
or front, which
would you lose
to participate in this prayer
what do you come to sacrifice?
Or on our best mornings we
close our eyes and walk
for hours
with only that shining blade
behind the eyes,
willing it to extend an invitation
an image to intersect
this blind road and spare not
one side of our body
more, but to thickly, as thick
as the million ghosts of stars,
run us through, clean
or not, until our blood coats
both flats of the knife
and we are more eternity
than not, flesh
fallen, shaved from the spine
tender mouthfuls for birds
of death and resurrection.
aug 17, 12
On the Altar, on Moriah
the year's end then
i lost my voice on
the way to you
or it died out
as we climbed mile
for mile into that
wide top
of the world
it was the end
of a year afterall, thinning
to a blade
and our voices
eventually
scrape clean
sacrifice
to the holy nothing
a fleet death shock
a frayed tongue
this is
what you are, afterall.
aug 16, 12
i lost my voice on
the way to you
or it died out
as we climbed mile
for mile into that
wide top
of the world
it was the end
of a year afterall, thinning
to a blade
and our voices
eventually
scrape clean
sacrifice
to the holy nothing
a fleet death shock
a frayed tongue
this is
what you are, afterall.
aug 16, 12
The Colours of Armageddon
This lavender sky
poisons shingles and brick
socks their mortared
millipeded gaps to pulp
dying kidney colour
like every rotten body gored
taking its last eyeful
lungful, hung from its own bones
lustful, it remains
gorgeous, engorged on stranger
and stranger means
of achieving
this last requirement
down to the last handful
the world will throw
gross beauty
in our eyes
and foam sticky holy
glory down our necks.
aug 11, 12
poisons shingles and brick
socks their mortared
millipeded gaps to pulp
dying kidney colour
like every rotten body gored
taking its last eyeful
lungful, hung from its own bones
lustful, it remains
gorgeous, engorged on stranger
and stranger means
of achieving
this last requirement
down to the last handful
the world will throw
gross beauty
in our eyes
and foam sticky holy
glory down our necks.
aug 11, 12
Bricks in the Blood
The walls
we live along fall
determine we will,
must, fight
their clay weight
hefted along in veins
snatching cradles
thought secret ours
in every eddy
exulting to smash
their painted spindles
carved curlicues
innocence we
believed sound
the only way
to find our bodies
bare but for one another
wrapped around
is to love like war
to break our fingers
from their death grip
to outbreathe this blood current
to live until it tires
of killing us
aug 13, 12
we live along fall
determine we will,
must, fight
their clay weight
hefted along in veins
snatching cradles
thought secret ours
in every eddy
exulting to smash
their painted spindles
carved curlicues
innocence we
believed sound
the only way
to find our bodies
bare but for one another
wrapped around
is to love like war
to break our fingers
from their death grip
to outbreathe this blood current
to live until it tires
of killing us
aug 13, 12
His and Hers
All that was left in the morning
was a jam jar
gin-soaked lavender oxidizing
and the last page of a short story
she always wanted to write,
about her secret high school boyfriend,
already done
right there. better really
because it was from his perspective
not hers. and now what
did she sleep after the jar? after the story?
did she need to be sheet swaddled to do so?
did she stay up wondering if she'd always
be a line walker
unbelieving believer while
the opposite too
did she stay up wondering, caring
why she never once cared
if she didn't have teenage sex
why the shape of faces fitting just so
was a sign of everything, enough
and a summoned smell of collarbone
could keep her up for hours
draining slowly from a jar
never thinking of more
not writing down the answers
to any of these questions
not even asking
aug 2, 12
was a jam jar
gin-soaked lavender oxidizing
and the last page of a short story
she always wanted to write,
about her secret high school boyfriend,
already done
right there. better really
because it was from his perspective
not hers. and now what
did she sleep after the jar? after the story?
did she need to be sheet swaddled to do so?
did she stay up wondering if she'd always
be a line walker
unbelieving believer while
the opposite too
did she stay up wondering, caring
why she never once cared
if she didn't have teenage sex
why the shape of faces fitting just so
was a sign of everything, enough
and a summoned smell of collarbone
could keep her up for hours
draining slowly from a jar
never thinking of more
not writing down the answers
to any of these questions
not even asking
aug 2, 12
About Morning
Coming out sideways
bringing drywall and frame,
the world down around your feet
shaving what's left of my bones
to double-edged stakes
nailing you to the rubbish heap
and while i've already paid
for your coming nightmares
with my pawned teeth
even monsters regret
so i sing you to sleep
lying about morning.
aug 8, 12
bringing drywall and frame,
the world down around your feet
shaving what's left of my bones
to double-edged stakes
nailing you to the rubbish heap
and while i've already paid
for your coming nightmares
with my pawned teeth
even monsters regret
so i sing you to sleep
lying about morning.
aug 8, 12
To the Bruises
we made our way
to an outcropping of bruises
in the dark they glowed
glossy black, black and blue
against the flat night
we thought they would shield us
between them hidden
from the endless, endless
web of consequences or worse,
indifference to our ruined lives.
in the dark, in my nerve cuffed joy
i did not count how many,
many selves i'd let loose
i did not count the reflections in the glossy black:
to the cleft she came first, desperate to steal
raised my own gun
steadier than i ever could
and blew a scream through your body
the size i couldn't tell
and through my face
big enough to be unsure it survived at all.
with nothing of me to save
she ran for the cliff side
as if it was not blacker there.
my only living self, finally
awake and all instinct, went after her
falling scent
the ghost of my jaw called her back
among the bruises
among our strewn outcomes
she lifted her throat as long as it would go
and cried into the black and blue
and against any reflection left.
jul 1, 2012
to an outcropping of bruises
in the dark they glowed
glossy black, black and blue
against the flat night
we thought they would shield us
between them hidden
from the endless, endless
web of consequences or worse,
indifference to our ruined lives.
in the dark, in my nerve cuffed joy
i did not count how many,
many selves i'd let loose
i did not count the reflections in the glossy black:
to the cleft she came first, desperate to steal
raised my own gun
steadier than i ever could
and blew a scream through your body
the size i couldn't tell
and through my face
big enough to be unsure it survived at all.
with nothing of me to save
she ran for the cliff side
as if it was not blacker there.
my only living self, finally
awake and all instinct, went after her
falling scent
the ghost of my jaw called her back
among the bruises
among our strewn outcomes
she lifted her throat as long as it would go
and cried into the black and blue
and against any reflection left.
jul 1, 2012
The Color of a Sheet
The sheet pulled over our twin bodies
yours and mine but
also hers and mine,
it's just the color of a sheet
i told myself but
you handed me a treatise
a careful thing
careful not to say
anything but the color of a sheet,
i bore into it, to find you under there
and wasn't allowed,
to find myself under there
but how is it i couldn't,
could only see this other body of mine
leaned against yours
all the faces lost in the color of a sheet.
Now and until we find one another, hand over hand,
we will make the color of this sheet
our tent and not go behind
our elders to see reason
under sturdier eaves.
jul
yours and mine but
also hers and mine,
it's just the color of a sheet
i told myself but
you handed me a treatise
a careful thing
careful not to say
anything but the color of a sheet,
i bore into it, to find you under there
and wasn't allowed,
to find myself under there
but how is it i couldn't,
could only see this other body of mine
leaned against yours
all the faces lost in the color of a sheet.
Now and until we find one another, hand over hand,
we will make the color of this sheet
our tent and not go behind
our elders to see reason
under sturdier eaves.
jul
Between Us, The Holy of Holies
This unfordable vein
might as well be an eternal
motion. if we ever found
the source, the bubbling gush
compact enough to walk
an easy circle. if we ever found
that, we'd have already walked
so far together, this river apart
we'd might as well keep it
so part of us.
and who's to say
it's not the holy of holies.
the hollow heart that keeps
it all from crashing
against it all. keeps
us from crushing one
another's throats in our hunger.
on either side of this
river, this chamber
veil rent and bled
we make out one
another's silhouette
through smoke.
aug 7, 12
might as well be an eternal
motion. if we ever found
the source, the bubbling gush
compact enough to walk
an easy circle. if we ever found
that, we'd have already walked
so far together, this river apart
we'd might as well keep it
so part of us.
and who's to say
it's not the holy of holies.
the hollow heart that keeps
it all from crashing
against it all. keeps
us from crushing one
another's throats in our hunger.
on either side of this
river, this chamber
veil rent and bled
we make out one
another's silhouette
through smoke.
aug 7, 12
Ouija
if you repeat (if)
the lines (you)
stroke for stroke (repeat)
the internal structure (the lines)
will organize itself (under your hand)
like a message (from the dead) on a board
of random letters
like a picture in the dregs (it's there)
you gather its pulse
under the wrist (then gone)
behind this knee, then not
testing every weakness to get out
(repeat the lines)
blind if it helps
trace them (senseless)
until your fingers find that knotted muscle
catching all the rest (in) its (terror)
strangle it
that (cold) ghost meaning
will arrange the lines evenly.
jul 27, 12
the lines (you)
stroke for stroke (repeat)
the internal structure (the lines)
will organize itself (under your hand)
like a message (from the dead) on a board
of random letters
like a picture in the dregs (it's there)
you gather its pulse
under the wrist (then gone)
behind this knee, then not
testing every weakness to get out
(repeat the lines)
blind if it helps
trace them (senseless)
until your fingers find that knotted muscle
catching all the rest (in) its (terror)
strangle it
that (cold) ghost meaning
will arrange the lines evenly.
jul 27, 12
The Month
he said this one's good for a month
and i felt the space of a month
balloon around me. full of my
own hair touching my shoulders,
my own hands touching my hair
outside the houses supposedly full
i only hear buzzing
houses full of bees
beating to get around the windows
and surround me
if i forget them
they won't come any sooner
forgetting the houses won't make them fall
forgetting the pressure mechanically,
without a will, laying siege
to the walls of my month
won't reverse gravity
whether i keep them warm
in my mind or not
i do not sustain these things
they wait any way
and come for me after all.
july 14, 2012
and i felt the space of a month
balloon around me. full of my
own hair touching my shoulders,
my own hands touching my hair
outside the houses supposedly full
i only hear buzzing
houses full of bees
beating to get around the windows
and surround me
if i forget them
they won't come any sooner
forgetting the houses won't make them fall
forgetting the pressure mechanically,
without a will, laying siege
to the walls of my month
won't reverse gravity
whether i keep them warm
in my mind or not
i do not sustain these things
they wait any way
and come for me after all.
july 14, 2012
The Professional Sick
no sum of parts
shaped only by
the limbs torn from traps
and the limbs
offered as peace
or bait.
like the professional sick
hire an alms giver
he will carry me to the nearest pool
into which lately pissed a prophet
or son of god.
because i never believed
any great physician
wearing just a face
i didn't recognize him
even as i paid
with my story
and took his back.
because i never believed
in one pool
more than the last
i didn't recognize
even as he passed them all
and hauled me to his own womb
a churn of blood and tissue.
the tide there stirred in fits
pulled time out in salt
compressed it down
stealing only to toss
my shrunken remains
over its shoulder
until holding my breath
felt as right as breathing
and all in one gulp i drowned.
the prophet disguised in piggyback
scraped me to land
by dislocated parts
there arranged them
pressed them into stone
left me there to learn
jul, 2012
shaped only by
the limbs torn from traps
and the limbs
offered as peace
or bait.
like the professional sick
hire an alms giver
he will carry me to the nearest pool
into which lately pissed a prophet
or son of god.
because i never believed
any great physician
wearing just a face
i didn't recognize him
even as i paid
with my story
and took his back.
because i never believed
in one pool
more than the last
i didn't recognize
even as he passed them all
and hauled me to his own womb
a churn of blood and tissue.
the tide there stirred in fits
pulled time out in salt
compressed it down
stealing only to toss
my shrunken remains
over its shoulder
until holding my breath
felt as right as breathing
and all in one gulp i drowned.
the prophet disguised in piggyback
scraped me to land
by dislocated parts
there arranged them
pressed them into stone
left me there to learn
jul, 2012
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