Tuesday, June 21, 2011

This liquid thing

this liquid thing
from adhesion to adhesion
I made for you
feels undetermined
like the way you recline
at an autopsy
distasteful but true

not much is legal
a delicate hole
a sky made from glass
almost like tomorrow
owl cores & flint chips
signs so faint
the pond freezes over

what was it I found
that crushes mountains?

if we were gods
only twice
two lines in the snow
a stark light
an oddity unworshipped
secretly in cahoots
a replacement for / sequence
no matter what anyone says
in public, like this
from giant rock piles
& I'm thinking lump sums
beneath the cushions
if there's an ocean
of theory & diagnostics &
linseed oil
my extraction

eventually someone found it
double double double
(one of us wept there)
as true as Gogol’s name
years passed
just behind his teeth
a werewolf in Moscow
drinking from an inappropriate
silver tankard, no doubt

on account of the weather

it has to do with the sea
these rumors
the troubles to come
I've seen things
if you're in the mood
the sky is getting heavier
with burlap & feathers
the jiggling proletariat
filleted & full of questions

since then I got better
like the reason behind the circumstances

a delicate aroma
wearing a towel
under the couch cushion
the movements / of our feet
the rest of us in the same boat
playing dead
a still life
for which we apologized
& flattered your long, slender legs
standing there on the back step
a laced nostalgia
with no scars or sackcloth
no poems or assets
for speaking lies to power
what does it mean?

not where but how & later
lazy, dripping
wrapped in fly paper
so careless about returning
a bumper crop
too heavy for grief

even though there was no policy
the ocean the ocean
why are you lingering in a churchyard
leaving cities
to your friends fed to fishes


in the middle
uprooted, in haste

fuels of unhappiness

lit up
in the mouth
& brain
a yellow moon
a few pieces of pumpkin
the scent of smoke
narrowed eyes

it was no big secret
shirt tails tucked out
on a trail marked with garbage
tall buildings
our fortunes & our sacred
pea brains / cheap plastic
except of course
when I look back from my counting
to the field full of cats
on the projector screen

I am waiting to discover

soup in a fishbowl
a fresh ballot
a welcome mat
of waste & of waste's god
moving parts

but they don't mix
sexophone orange lace flannel
that follows you
to reunite
in the bathroom
through the turnstile
the mover said
over there
leaving no trail
behind / in the watershed

it's the moment that we're living
with distinction
the wrong kind of dirt
too many cars
shit & a feeling
of wide open speciousness

a wordless / dawn
into a fishy host

their lips in chorus
across the watery plain

two pennies
the everlasting dyad

the jumbotron
of strange commitments

on my hands
& knees
a languid fix, the future

i am more or less susceptible
a nice little locality
science fiction
the load reduced
a handshake
a formal note
cognitive dissonance
the last of the bread crumbs
a more rigid form of reprobation
but that's a whole different story

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