We devour our young by saying their name.
Written, embroidered, propelled
Into a universe of scavengers.
Devour with a nod, a pat on the back.
Eat amongst the smiling thousands,
Who cluck with shame and lick their teeth.
Believe it or don’t, but
It may be over. The distance
Between sighs is palpable
And now I don’t know your hair color
Or your thoughts
on Natasha Lyonne’s new show.
Messages remind me
Of deep caves that never
Return sound to their messenger.
If I am forlorn it may be because
Sound is sustaining
and without it , I’m not sure where you are.
Wash me in ash culled from the river,
The place where the burned trees gather.
Hunt for the sun as it sets a bloody curtain
Over the horizon. Grasp me fiercely
As if I am careening toward the world’s
Gaping maw. Make believe that tomorrow exists.
We have tall trees. The sort
that seems to have raised themselves
From a story, rather than a seed.
From the north they look
Like spindly teeth ready to eat
The sky. Along their roots,
We mapped the spine of our land,
Coming to conclude that
Moss is a language rather than
A cartographer’s mark.
From below, an organic Lucerne,
Spires crafted from wind, water,
And sun erased the monster’s
Bite from our minds.
We made our way
To the opposite ridge
And waited until our trees
What bones are these?
Typing, hanging between gravity’s decisions.
Metaphors hardly capture the way
my capillaries dance, imprecisely reasoning
whether one can see both sides of a coin. Philosophically,
a coin only has one side, the side that is visible.
My body and its cells, want the solution to be existence
on all plains, though, the joints, the cartillage
and the flesh covering them to exist as song,
to be beat and backbeat, note and rest. Apple
skin and seed on the same plane. My mind and heart want
too much, lost time,
the love, its impossibility, mountains & sea,
distant desire, awareness & absolute silence,
the layering of sound and its ability to map
the edges of pain but physical, these tissues
don’t make sense of it. This is why
the tips of my fingers are as a far math goes.
Crows are black. The dusk envelopes and I feel feathers pass my head. You are leaving and through the window, I watch wingbeats above your car. Heavenly ripple, at night, the crows wait for your absence. When they call to me, I hear the geometry of space, a sky of four corners. I believe they parcel their time among the trees and on the ground, silently observing humanity, its coming and goings. Nature left the loudest bird to tend us, scold us, remind us of the everheart below the soil. I lay on the rocks to the south. It is morning and I have seen my sisters overhead. What I cannot determine is where we meet, where I draw down my soul and greet the crows by name.
against the sky.
Are we carrion,
blistered and bleached?
and piled against
the moon’s reflection.
We were not
here among the sheaves
of paper, the mounded dirt.
I think this,
the wretched beginning,
was when I could
see sand, a mote
impaling the air.
of a world,
pinked by nuclear tide.
When the tide comes in.
My eyes are clear
And the grains of sand are mirrors
Reflecting one another
For miles. Beyond the horizon
I know nothing waits
And only becomes. Piers
Tickmarks that circle the shore.
I can count the number of times
I’ve been here. My hands, my words,
Adding things up
In my head, machinery
Away from perpetuity. Here,
I look, prize
The pre-nominal, preternatural.
Cry for the unknowable barrier
Between foam and depths
And its unyielding being.
Sonorous and fragrant,
I am placed,
Without recall or will. My body
Sees, feels, waits for the miraculous
To be my heartbeat, to take me in time,
To lay claim
To my eyes and
To make my sight salt.
The pain you feel is natural.
It reminds you of the asparagus tips
from one side of your plate
to another. When you wished
You were somewhere else
Anywhere else. But really
That was the problem. Sight.
The invisibility. You
Are never alone but
A room of lamps and chats
Reminds you of the rotating
Planets, electrons adding
And subtracting all on their own.
There are distant stars falling,
According to your eyes. The pain is in
Your heart, you can feel it
The same way you can feel
That star after your eyes have convinced your body
That magic exists and it was burning
In the sky. In the night
That pain comes and tells you
About itself. You are ready, prepared.
It will be your shadow and your guide.