miles and miles and miles

The spirit must be exorcised
else it become plump and resigned
to being loved

and the spirit is circularly interrogated

the modern age may be defined by reflections that sound like proclamations and proclamations which sound like reflections and cursory circular responses that submerge and hold meaning under
else there is no truth and it’s all been a come on…

comes one.
waiting for god, the circulatory lover
who courses through and warms
every part.

for god jumps out of a moving car and lives
for god braces your crooked leg
what do these mean, they are funny, but they conjure an image of loving

it is a common misconception that love is there from the start — no, what’s there is prairie grass for miles and miles and miles.

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the desert face

the desert face may call
any simpering one, flush
and grip it in burn
no more than an hour passed

to find it then wilted, or —
those smart will have to hide…
or, they wait as long
as they can
but they will drink on one another
and still die

some things cannot be carried
some will be left behind

would you believe it
the brutal face is the generous face
coming, to be brought out by other hands
some way

 

zoe

for now, you are more fish than me
your belly full of liquid
i breathe it, i eat it
and you swallow it

i hear it, and you hear it
muffled and meaningless to you, underwater
but you’ll stick to my translation
you have no one else to listen to

will you want to keep yourself? or, will that come later
when desire inherits your head
taken with the theme of living

aren’t you frightened?
i am afraid to fall asleep
to the darkness you are feeling
kicking at the soft cell of me
hands gripped tight and wondering,
without wondering
what time it is

there is a hope in this project that makes
a contradiction of me
asking to keep something i promised to borrow

but the cat appears, and she seems
much more content to let love go on without reserve
in its extraordinary coordination with impossibility

 

 

survival

 

when being run down
i always imagine myself circling a tree
back and forth around the trunk
waiting for him to tire
it’s funny, actually
until i struggle for my life

but when i imagine it, i always see some one else
caught in it, not me

this is the part i cannot stand watching
material coming unbound, for some one,
all the stitches out
the thing getting overwhelmed

dead is something else
a question mark in a stretch of letters
a sign standing in
for an atmosphere that couldn’t begin to word itself

it is the living who expire on death
starstruck with the body
that won’t write anymore

 

requiem

when we met here, on earth
there it was (defining “spirit”: a gathering – a process of cellular, pathogenic, mammalian, or galactic import, etc.)
we are here for the one who fled us

at this point, we sing your name
god was heard
some are crying
this is what we called you
one unalone
after all, it goes on

in your death
paradox made contact
and we understood where you went
as though you were made known to us
at the underside of anything unseen
there it was made obvious: material exists in a space assumed vacuous

called upon to confront our selves
turning back to try to spot
the one who broke away

we are coming for you!
no one goes on without us (defining “love”: transmutive reel. or, access.)
no one is me, no one is you (defining “god”: a gathering – cellular, mammalian, et al. bridle of wonder.)

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

 

we have lived here for a very long time

we have lived here for a long time

a black stroke arching in a frame
it was fixed, it was encompassed
all along, that anterior light
held by a nervous hand

by then
what is permanent and still?
all that pulled the curtain into after

mourning is only spent

succumb to the cataclysm of space
a womb in contraction
prepare to be undone and shown
at once

we have lived here for a very long time