So all day we did that
Where the curtains part
And where ever you are it's not here

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So all day we did that
There were other things to do
 
Picking wild, seedy raspberries
Regrows, leaning into the thorns
From which a tent
 
Exploded, the loose, murdered body
Basketball bright with menses

My insane mobility, maybe
The lock to the nursery of glaciers open
Poetry and garbage come from

The halved skull where
Pectin! how the hands feel and
 
After the ax handle sap
From the façade—canning jars
 
Maybe chords like the compost bin open
The mustard hanging to dry
 
Damaged pine by the driveway
 
Or hawk in the wind
 
 
 
 
29 June

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Where the curtains part 

A microphone is clipped to a burqa
And I smell myself, like vinegar and lilacs, its good—it has to be
Under, the hot lights and in this dimness, past eye whites
 
Teeth in mustaches or the purple-hot
Darkness of the whale intestine squeezing
 
Tighter   you keep
Pulling smaller bones like fish bones
Or an umbrella rib from
 
Your mangled arm, you in the whale
Like a bullet in a couch swim 
Toward a tiny orifice, like a pin-hole you think
 
This is dying and it is impossible
To think, after we break up
 
We’ll change parts
You said, so long as they haven’t been
 
Rubbed into a tree
 
 
 
 
FOR THIS END OF OUR LOVE DREAMS ARE ALLEGORIES OF COURSE

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And where ever you are it's not here

And where ever you are it's not here
Where brains fork and ossify
Fingers in a landscape
Of forklifts and the unremitting
Grayness of invertebrate predators
Where our blood is replaced
By magnetized shavings, the roads
Randomizing, dads downgrading
We met during moving time
I was ready to go, you
Held my hand, you laughed
And pointed it out—diving from
The feeder the red, the
Blue, the red
Bird, you are lonely, even if
You were made in a factory by a cloud
Of millions of insects
Even if insect is a name we give the machines
That take up this rapture
To spill things in great lights
 
 
 
 
 
1 Aug 09 - IT WAS MOVING TIME