What begins is the distance if we looked and were arrested; just
getting it out there, the dark meadow rubbed in silver, the black
meadow cohering in the harness, this
fragrance; I wanted to dwell inside a certainty we had given up—
if we had recourse to the sutra as it rolled
or the black and white dance within such a tied–up box, some
alloy cognition some broken up contentment spread
out in front of us; I look up and we are negotiating this hill down
to the noisy café—a calm in our skin, a light distortion;
is it that we thought the metaphysics duplicitous?—
folding distrust into the delicate morning, stretching our bodies into
the fine machining predicate wind, a hearing
come on, the course of the ambulation
through it—is it insincere to call the moment homeless?—long unfinished
decisions despite the arrangement of bodies, and yon blossoming
the procedure of a season and us attendant as we might also be free,
disciplined and set loose in a
movement, time prismatically so, a pinch of light
that ought instead be inside it; I approach the first encounter
with a finish; this is the fashioning of each next again—left
open, the tone sounding within it as a mereness, sequestered
from exchange the soliloquy literally hidden, what you are
saying as our eyes leave it.
~
Dawn is a circle around my head, an incoherence.
Ought to be driving the logic up and down,
yet bereft of the technical,
maybe that one looks off at another screen playing
a lullaby or the round completion
of comforts obstructing the tissuey substrate
of a narrative—here,
did we decide or in some such decisiveness pulverize the accumulated
scoria as if
in a thoughtlessness of transit or just the ceaseless unfolding
of the new and could conjure
the subject as such, I mean the you and I
as devotion? What to do with simple magnitude?
Deeply this weather pattern stirs itself and our bodies absorb
and extrude
and this other, this anterior running so loudly, its
flat approximations ribboning out from us with hellacious
regularity, the being gone
of the future we fear
waking already into a conclusion as though the furniture
had been pushed against the wall
and the floor powdered―
but it can’t be like that, not
now in the digital rain and the deeply saturated continuity
of arrivals,
the body and the feeling at the end of it where the forest begins?
~
Because the southerly gold instant welled in our eye sockets.
A beginning edged in the faint audibility of a conversation.
I imagine you dropping down and covering me with your wings.
It’s like this in the darker parts, in the earlier parts, of the hour we magnetized.
My body antagonizing the desk, the lamp set somewhere back in the vague aesthetic.
Have you ever been lost?
Woken up with your back against the curve of a horn’s bell?
Halfway through the film about the saint, I was fidgeting in the bus seat.
The bell an enormous room that you have rented.
I hadn’t believed we were being timed.
Stretching our backs in the minute numerical ventilations of the complex sum.
That accounts for the invisible thing we’ve become surer of.
The monstrosity purred down into a warm circulation.
Did I tell you that when I was a kid I saw us here from the outside?
~
I was unaccustomed to the truth it being derived from something else.
A dent in the freehand sequence from the subway stairs to the potted geranium on the sill.
Nestling into a spacious dissatisfaction, hearing within it vague radicals.
A hand open-palmed and the calendar pages counted into it.
Like the runaway circumference of the park as we spin.
One must be OK with a certain level of universality.
Cutaway to the lake detaching the sky.
What are you telling me, that it’s in our animal nature?
Is this what I’m hearing in the other afternoon taking place?
I can’t even begin to think about time running out.
We watch television, and it’s like being lifted gently skyward by our bellies.
~
This prism
of accidents the
dog
appearing
in the gold foil
again.
~
Chewed gem
knowledge
grass perimeter
catching
forward
time itself
and
desperation there
in it—
king
and dead man
tell me
no good
advice.
~
I found the necessary it was
flat it ran along the surface
of my skin it was my skin
under the plastic sky saying
we could not that is
how we said it notified ourselves
the tube that connected us for
that while ringing with a
soft wind couldn’t you feel it
how gentle the emptiness is
how we would never need to consider
conceiving of the world.
~
We may have been perfect
sky
unthreaded beautifully
afterward is
a crowded
darkness the cinema
of what we
don’t want
I know
certain moves know
them
so well
perfect straight line past
the end of the year
don’t you think it’s time
the crows write
in their parabolas
but we don’t get it it’s
not gotten.
~
We were exasperated the darkness mounting the perimeter of the machine.
Holding the yolk in your mouth and walking through the endings.
The ground is where the science failed the simple substance.
I was holding the center down with my thumb and turning my cognition into an oblong mass.
It could have been like music the way the air fractured.
You took the image and peeled it from itself.
Incinerated the image and anointed our foreheads.
Our anticipation circularized the wakeful foreclosure.
We were together in that I knew where you were and how it was.
There was nothing that we didn’t know.
~
A bed of rotations the gray night three dimensional.
You were bringing yourself to a premise it was as though the airplane were flying out of your mouth.
I held a faint green light in my mind and slept.
The earth was as it is in its four directions.
Breath being one perspective and vision another.
You think your sleeplessness expands against the ceiling.
This is a snowstorm or something full of notes.
The mantle where the thinking is cured the luminosity congealed.
I mean to say we are a mechanism and also something to the side of it.
You were anxious about the trip, that’s why you couldn’t sleep.
This will be special this life we are completing.
In my dreams I touched the surface and it was enough.
In my daylight dreams.