from ONE MONTH

24


Suppose there is a will
to beauty. Suppose beauty
in horses arises
from sexual magnetism. Suppose
there is a form of living that
detracts least from others. Suppose
diagonals provide an ecology
of resistance. Suppose an image
is necessary to bring about the obliteration
of difference. Suppose we stick
to touch. Suppose the ear is moral. Suppose we
are doomed to love
what entertains us. Suppose fingerprints
are your initial admissions
of guilt. Suppose each surface
implicates only another
inexhaustible depth. Suppose saying
so makes it so. Suppose gravity
is humbling. Suppose there are those who
would think ugly these organs
of pleasure. Suppose they continue
to fear words. Suppose the “earth” is
made of them. Suppose your one
wish was to slough
the body’s fritz. Suppose you called
it a nerve sleeve. Suppose space
could exist without
the collaboration of time. Suppose numbers
were invented by a cult of time
worshippers. Suppose the word “man” began
to strike you as being just
a little humiliating. Suppose gravity
was indignant. Suppose every prize fails
by dint of its redundancy. Suppose help
is finally on the way. Suppose we
have ceased to need it.


25


Did it work? Does
the thought become sequestered
in possession in? Does it leave
particular dregs? A patina of grief?
How long is the journey
of a question? Are we too much
or too little hinged
on the likelihood of it? Did light desire
cinema? Do molecules
know nostalgia? When is this poem
best suited to history? Is it out
there? Still? That mountain
standing mute in
refutation of our philosophy?
Does the quest require
darkness? Is it dark yet? Do you grow
hearts like a shark
loses teeth or need three
like an octopus? Will night’s chill or
morning’s hunger erase
this tediousness? Who is the you you prefer
to leave behind? Is movement too
disturbing? Are we
disturbed enough? Where
does one learn more
about obviousness? Why does one feel
the need for continued invention? See them
there? Wherever the horizon
of the arm traces? That black
cat licking bugs from the Toyota’s
speckled grill? The back erased
to YO?

26


The dollar store
as national symbol. Ethnicity as
selling point for beer.
The American death of perfect teeth.
Engagement with some local
tongue. Wall Street as agora. The secret
dream of every nightmare. Vice-
versa. The tender that marks
the treasury of the heart. Recycling
the entire body bone
by bone. Humiliation’s U-turn.
A chortle borne by intimacy.
The part that samples annihilation
among friends. Heavy hanging
brow of the ungenerous lover. All
questions are lost
in the underlying ballistics
of the statement. Astounded by wealth’s
slow ease. All our dicks in
a row. The wending one makes
around the shapeliness of distant shadows.
War’s ability to survive
without the rich. This bill blown
awkwardly through mind’s commerce.
A dream dreamt in the vaults
at night. A canceling red antidote.
The weariness of horror. The new craft
that arrives in memory’s
stagnant mooring. When I say I
love you that means I will soon owe
you something like money.
The reason it is said. The unreasoning
reason.


27


You say the burglary
of future works is the poet’s
occupation. I say magnetism should not
be overlooked. You say it’s all time
wasted loving the irreparable.
I say the answers are too obvious
to see. You say ambivalence is a sign
of honesty. I say surveillance is
a mode of caress. You say shouldn’t
there be a name for the loss
of ontology. I say I wouldn’t mind
dying alone in the forest. You say the ghosts
have been holding us all
along. I say desire lives inside
the fold’s membrane. You say she slurs
the pattern’s weft to invite
the real’s return. I say the cat thinks
a sneeze is a death. You say
nothing, disgusted. I say we will no longer
be able to inhabit the divided class
structure. You say children
should name themselves. I say words
suffer at the namer’s lack. You say we all suffer
from abundance. I say there is a spiritual
requirement for orgy. You say names
are simply tools for generalization. I say
generalization is simply a tool
for oppression. You say all syllogism
is oppressive. I say let’s move
to some remote Canadian
wood and start over. You say why begin
again when the end is so near. I say nothing
is less possible than not choosing.
You say I abhor my little white smile
salvation light. I say I’m going
to touch you very gently. You say mouth
ship neck horizon.