Friday, January 13, 2006

"conjoined in the splinter"

a good
Movie stretches endlessly

In every place that it was and walking
Through the halo of one
Room into another involves

Changing your life so
Get over it, vanity
Is an atavism of unloving

Lords and yea
That I would be released
From the heavy triumph

Of reactive forces, let
Me be blunt, I refuse
The suicide that

Is not possessed
By revelry, which is why I
Have asked you here

Beside me, to watch ashes
As they catch on
The leaves of the date

Trees beneath the fire
Escape and thus
Will we terrify the modern

With our calm and truck
No myopia, for we
See how a window can look

Simultaneously into
And onto, how voices transmute
The blank room

Into a cathedral, a cathedral
Which nonetheless opens backwards
When the voices reverse

Into snaps and steam
Fortuitously ascends 54th Street
On the bare stems

Of godforsaken city
Flora, let me say
This plainly, I want you

Not to listen
To what I
Say, but rather

What I’m trying
To say, you
See, it is one thing

To know and another
To love and each thought
Should be like shrapnel

Wanting only
To embed itself, this
Is how the image

Of a pigeon turning
In lascivious circles burns
Into the lid’s

Back, he is on the edge
Of the roof and so
Now are you, when I write

About the dislocations
Of astonishment
I want for us all to be conjoined

In the splinter of it, love
Should not be
Malady, just as a song

Should not throttle
Into harangue by an otherwise
Preoccupied voice, my

Livelihood rests
In the miniatures made
By listening, at night

I turn
My iterations
Into a beast

That haunts unassuming
Sleepers, I used to
Wake in a red cascade

Of screams as the villagers
Fled, but I have since
Learned to control the sound

My dull fur makes
Into scratches of rain

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