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Between hyphen
and If we insist on cupping the milk of illness, a thin grass
aurora
question song is clotting
is ache beyond the patio. What is the
meaning of belong
when you run from the place where you were
born. The
radiator in the truck smells like awkward
talking. If you are
small you pray for sunburns. We don’t
understand how a
noise can break a tree, then the needs of
the body disperse
like a wrecked ant hill. Look for evidence
of weakness in
beauty. We found ourselves talking through a tunnel to a friend in
despair and we seemed
necessary. Gray sky hit the windows like wet and shame. Each sentence
was a plea to be a
galaxy itself, pressing against the dust of another immediately near.
It is challenging to
someone who is taught to be apologetic, a book of welts. Maybe their
response to the sea is
to stand. Remember that the highway is translated envy. I wanted to
eat her hate for me,
and him too, to be able to say, you too are hated this way. I fix
my eyes from chainsaw to
cloud. We thought to argue with the interpreter of dreams, until the
noon siren sounded like
whales and the cars were hushed. One can sleep productively by crossing
out errands on a
calendar, buying the proper deodorant, and gazing at no one in the
same café each Saturday.
I had to remember that it had all happened even if it now existed
outside of me, this feeling
of nothing fits, else every country claim me. We feel responsible
for all the electricity
between bodies. Salt-cheeked and barefoot the pockets of the child
overflowing with shells.
In that house water was a guest and family was work not to simply
shift to a preferred
meaning. Dogs were barking the names of nobody. The sky almost blind
fumbling for the
kitchen light, the shortest distance between the body and the page,
a rhyme instead of aging.
If I wrote another word the letters would have started to hyperventilate,
forgetting gills
underwater; I put a period there between the night sisters wailing
until they could be Seven, a
needle of cold light. The little record player, painted like a pair
of blue jeans. If you say my
does a thought leave the mind through the larynx, does breath depart
lungs. When emblems
are made by hand in clay or yarn, a saint blooms into fear. Smell
is the sound of skin
undoing so I press my ear to where his watch had been. A blister silver
as lake. |
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