she sings to us in code
it's baby deer or fawn
how even does she know?
finally I found out
within our ears she builds new roads
not impala or gazelle
a fin in fine form, curves infinite and contained
a cathedral of blood and arteries and veins
a chamber within that delicate refrain
a spider's tiny hint at the bass line in our brain:
a gentle revolution which leaves us unexplained
Fog is not a thing
mist rises, clouds sink lower
the world is shrouded.
A sandpiper call
Invisible, far, serene
in misted dawn-grey
swirls like creamed coffee
eddies around our edges
Obfuscates the pain
the bugaboo cries
tears to wet his cheeks and eyes
the fog brings life back
we live on no land
boat of hopes, mistakes, and dreams
grey ship, fog, and sea
green-blue oily fly... shell bleached foam fried
drop eyes blink watch amoebae explode
heat and thirst thin-thick air wavers
slaver, desperate always
half-minute's peaceful reflection
itchy leather coughing dust
blood warm tepid taste like foul breath
how many liters is that?
line up thirds/some fractal
steady arcing shocking twtching hands
breathe, deep and hot sear
hold it near, lower heart rate... wait...
still a flicker, a shake
fly leaves, wait and shake..
battery dies in the heat
how many liters is that?
slither slide and misdirect sit in silence here and there
intersperse with scurries dances tail etches sand
dust devil steals our melody and spins it to white noise
our spine is sixteen tons of What Do I Get?
our face might be analogous to what they called a "faggot"
but we're made of blood and meat and bone
—and our words could disillusion a maggot—
From genocides and rubicons, the ghosts of whom this ghost is from
our spine is 16 miles long, a mule on every knob and prong
bare possible, this critter here, a modern miniscule miracle
unnoticed in our angst we sank but then we found a think to think
a Reason, at it were, a Bee come over here to land on we
her waterfall of cedar curls, her voice like oceans full of pearls
she makes us write like little girls, and also yeah, our toes do curl
fin.
you envelop me like I'm a small patch of forest on a mountain slope and you are a massive loving cloud of honey-amber rolling over and through me, tickling my tree branches and soothing my beasts, and lulling the birds to sleep
La historia después de Bolivar y ninguna más mejor?
naah,
Soplo nos unotro por favor.
Jacarandas continua eterno:
si después del tiempos muy loco
what is this comfort
this peace?
a precondition of release?
we thought our heart would soon decease...
but now we are relaxed, bewitched by her mind
an hypnotic obsession, not rival to our own
Our love has a thicket of the most complex and amazing brambles for a crown
we could dwell in there forever, happy, wild
but we remain indignantly erect, despite our truest efforts
a howling bear-bitch, too tall and too broad and just too much fucking noise
—
Tresses are plural: We love nothing so much as a Singularity.
Her words rain like miracles
a blizzard of cherry blossoms in white just for example today
fall down from her heavens to gently blanket us in soft whispers
so here we will create a home, austere and sere
a clean, well-lighted pair.
We cannot be such, we natch'ral like Sea
And Meek should be on bended knee
'neath our tentacles, kept from free
by Mother Ocean's gravity
Meek is Less than He who Doth not Be
and none from that direction we
have ever felt but sun and breeze
and bird- and batshit raining down
to rest upon our own proud crown
our shattered mantle torn and sundered
by Meek men's wants and Meek men's plunders
get ye hence from Ur-gentle crust
return ye Meek unto your dust
fulfil their mad Meek prophecies
and free the land and air and seas!
from Ur will not be gentle breeze
no shady elms to salve their pleas
the Meek will suffocate and die
in their own filth piled high
and then we can return to deeps
and hopefully we'll get some sleep
O unborn souls, forgotten ones
those from whom has gone the Sun
we call your names in silent yawp
for unto you they were rendered not
in life in hopes in dreams crushed to dust
your souls will not forgot by us!
We find our beauty in agony
but this is only for faint breath
from small anticipated death
a weakened heart, no sorrows left
if angels be we would be free
but instead in silence we will flee.
To be not even memory,
this is what we wish to be
our name? ninguno, nobody
from mortal coil-scarred memory?
to nothingness and never-we.
hang our corpse from a tree
decompose us swiftly, please
Where is this alleged normality
which engulfs and obscures simplicity?
A simple pot, a simple pea. a natch'ral benthic poetry!
Gri-Ahtapot tiny, underneath we grab and look and jet and play
we find a place to ambush prey
we blend right in, or stand out stark
descend into the brine and dark we decide on what we need our mind's not bounded by this sea...
and we don't Believe.
Simply proceed: Mark us as a loss we have no more interest in being your boss
Flower in a vase, a beast in any prison you will never see.
Creosote pylons- a ferry, not a tugboat: Our ankle has snapped
Hop over a fence a growth zone pain gets intense: Urban life limping.
lisp exaggerate? we're just trying to fit in... it's not pronounced that...
"Sah-vahj" who says that? A poster of A. Lennox is all we wanted.
Upon your ferns and thick spanghum bed, resting langorously as squirrels forage and rabbits impale themselves on acacias.
We planted them for your evening repast to come.
All thick and covered in stick insects and mantises carnivore-flawless like your sharp eyes in a moment of alertness... you ghost leopard... prowl round your domain.
We live in a cave under the roots of Grandfather Tree.
You are the Grand Dame of all birds and beasts and crawling things on and under Ur including ourself, but we are the one who speaks to and from the Ocean in waves and threats borne upon greater and slower things than these, you know.
Your heart, Ur's blessing beats within a firey black core stretched so tautly across the drum of the acorn-universe Ur's beat reflects the same and your heart is just as full of black and flame, a gravitational wave like an intestinal spasm regular and intense and so massive that small, clamourous gilded things cannot hear it at all.
O love, your heart mirrors the universe it creates.
But you sing it, you make the melodies — along with the Moon and the Ocean, we can only hear it and know it and understand it like a simple otter: That's what we do.
Life awkward ugly
inelegant chimera a barge
hauling mounds of disco rice
out to sea to breathe and eat and fly
wash rinse repeat
The never-ending lost souls
a clean wall—hangdog face
a Sisyphean endeavor of disgrace and dissolution
all in order, set in place
...One... zero... Race!
Number Four: A cat on this carousel of revolutions.
A swarm of moths ate Mickey Mouse
wafting dusty poison in our eyes
a red gel film cover slides in place on those sailor-flies' lives
How now do we see past the prow?
"Same as it never was!" Seagull cries down
