Saturday, October 19, 2013

THE BENDING MOMENT: How to tick every box for the other

1.
Tonight the sand is something else entirely
a grey mat, no prettier shade to save these sheets of mist
My heart is the wrinkled nose of a poet
faced with dead air, muted
in the head
I have left

though my feet still here say something else entirely
marsh is marsh, mostly you cannot build here
The water tastes of wild sage and
naughty boys (how to drink from
these waterless springs ) pulling
pulling at the tight curl of hair
this midnight helix of otherness

We are born apart then begin becoming
till we are something else entirely
bumping against the space given to us
we repent or crash unwillingly into a dance
with some new god
till this lease of grace becomes the shore
we can no longer see

there are so many ways
so many places to die and
ink is another country
there are only so many roads
to each of our kingdoms
and still more places to dry
for there is sun here but out there
sea is sea, mostly they make bisque of all we are

are we not aspiring
barnacle attaching these shells to details
we like, crustacean, new skin each time
the softness on the inside fleshes out
some have found the devil where he is
far away from here
what form, when the body is but a shell
everything inside is at sea

lost - no open
sometimes places know us
even when we do not
know we have been found,
wanting, something more
or less than this furious latin, and so
who is the keeper and who the bee
the box must be watched over
obviously
you cannot leave it and keep it
not feral

you must choose

This is the part where the metaphor
sheds itself of your skin
standing separate from our effort
dons a black hood
and crawls along the wet tongue
of the poem's plank
beaming to its death

2.
There is always a road
sometimes under all that is soaked and far away

leading somewhere
its tarred tongue gleaming gold

how to ask the question
when there is olibanum in the air
when the wine is as myrrh upon your head
and your ink has fumbled for another country

how to grow without molting
when joy is joy
and freedom is something else entirely

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