5
Chinese men stand
on my foot on
the way to Manhattan, the hair
from my armpits pinching
in my t-shirt, to be blind
each day is a senseless response
Is there responsibility without
judgment, without
prohibition? It occurs
to me to obliterate
an intuitive symmetry
The wall outside the train
window reads POCKET
POOL CHAMP, the wall
of my cheek forms a rank pocket
of air, stalling the unconscious
current from within
When I was a kid
I believed I
went fantastically
long periods of time without
breathing
6
What is forgivable?
I move to bare
the little splitting
inside as it
reds between
the pink on the end
of my finger
Somehow this coincides
with a faith in
the world as a place
to go on living
I wake in a catastrophe and move
about the
city in a tiny
raft of glee, my gaze always
already yellow because I’m not severe
like a dancer, nor perverse
like Balthus, though of course
I am
If I want to be
as real as
a hamburger, can I do it
without harnessing myself?
7
How does one not
harass the world
with the promiscuities
of one’s eye?
slurring over the resemblances
Your body
is oscillating
and I want
to bed in between
the waves of
that becoming
This body
is a thoroughfare
which enables
various energies
to transact and curve and to lose
love is to feel
as if a significant piece
of oneself is being
attenuated, so I go
out to walk the streets freezing
and overheated, blank
as a plank of
wood, the leaves left
skeleton by ice
and grafted to the grates
I heave winter by its latest
air, ears
gone slate as the train
billows into its burrow
of tile and I am on
my way back to Brooklyn
8—2.17.06
Can I say the air
is beautiful?
Can I spend my whole
life as a guest
inside the eccentric balloon?
Let us hold
to the appearances and in
our holding release
the burdens of these bodies made
thick with unconscious
care while the tic-tic
of the birds goes thrillingly out
Can I spend my whole
life as a gust
outside the eccentric balloon?
How better to unpack
the impact of thought?
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