death, poem, poetry, Uncategorized

10 minutes to tell you this

i will have lived
and i will be eaten

first, the corpus will play
a tumescent game

and letting go, disgracefully
sinking

beginning: going from innumerable junctions
unaware: losing half, and then quarter
bitten and sucked

not watching: pieces taken and used,
and i will energize something else: not watching

not to remember
not, new!

forward will mean
the need to break apart

time hot and bent to the outline of a decanter
the shape of me slowly exploding

 

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poem, poetry, Uncategorized

cattle call to brain

by recognizing each mood 
starting in the middle
beginning, to me
the concentric quality
rising water
in a rush, i am
starting, finishing
maybe i am compelling myself to anxiety
even joy
especially despair
depart into image:
the first bare foot
to contact the stepping stone
in a garden, at night
i am whispering this
it helps, the image
a self-portrait? i couldn’t bear

reading has been soothing me
making me innocent, in repose, vulnerable
each complete image, another trip
on the cool path of stone

 

 

 

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Uncategorized

dad

there he is
my chest expands
talking to a group of men

when I walk up to him, he won’t be real
never right in front of me, always steps away

there is a desperate scream that comes out bound
i am listening to a child, dying
there is horror that the sound is coming out of my own mouth

and it is the sadness trying to kill me
it is the sadness saying that there will be a hole forever
that i will never understand what to do with it
to know where love ought to go

and tomorrow it will be gone

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poem, poetry, Uncategorized

cortex

it is good for wind to work on something.
taking time. all things get smooth and small,
and all things want for caress.
sitting for hours, working it through with your fingers
until it is done and you’ve made something
a daisy chain, or a pair of shoes —
or, by pushing your thumbs away and hanging on
to the creases of something’s face
it’s not so much another face
as it is the properties have changed
and you might not remember something anymore
the author always said: the real umbilical cord to the past was eaten!
that means it’s in something’s stomach now.
can you imagine an umbilical cord with a prefrontal cortex? god.
for something to become tired, it must be worked down.
after mumbling, there is silence. the mind is setting.
if you are sleeping and something is talking to you,
you may mind or not, after all.
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