by kari edwards and Chris Martin
Let's do all and anything that comes
Just sever certain things and send
~
Take it form, there
Open and discard content
Return lines to their previous breath
Slip in unnoticed sleep
Wind and release
Hover over for truth
Puncture with tooth
Peel and calibrate to nude lengths
Leap across backwards
Say yes, eyes open
~
on a rise or around a rose
on a flat
around a crowd that is one
spread that across the universe with solar winds
that is still one
~
This is still ore
Will move
“My heart still loves,
will break”
There is nothing
bleak about the shore, its tide,
restored, the breaching birds
spearing their tongues to salt
such as we would
much as we woo the unpalatable
sea, see
what lives its small
time diving among the tide’s
hours This is ours
This is all
ties and glue
blues and small eyes
shoestring and what plies
its steps through sand and
thousands of other forms.
Let’s bother Let’s throb
these lines in our breast, in
our best impression of sea, its wet
impression of sun
setting against the shore
This ore is still, will move
more soon, so on
~
take a visual field
any field
record every detail
shades movements
taste budding hopes supposed thoughts
frizzed atoms fraught molecule periodic table sum calculations
parcel post and particle paradigms found in the cracks and crevasses
then take a step and do it again
~
take as tether the line
rapt as gallows rope
open eyes, yes say
yet this is where you must pause
pull the strings until weft
slowly, solely
you must paw at the fabric
until it splits
light the pieces
melt
~
An Action
(may be performed wherever there are windows)
Throw chair through
window. Sit
on chair. Give
reading of new
poems by current
Poet Laureate.
~
take a deep breath
turn the sky in to a bite-size ball
swallow
imagine all the filth of time
the screams from war
blood shed particles
lost memories from genocide
exhaust, fumes, vapors and particles
from every motor, coal furnace, and nuclear reactor
the bones that have been crushed in machines by machines
all the hate and violence caused by fear times one million and fifty-five
isolation and madness in the upper atmosphere
each an every cry from the last of a kind
greed and the road paved with good intentions
take a deep breath
swallow
~
Open the closest closet and remove all the clothes
~
Look into the eye of a fish
See yourself
Go backwards
~
there is a hum in the air
the air is the hum
do you know the tune?
~
stand on a white piece of paper
become the paper
have some one place the paper out side
leave instruction for anyone to find the you that was on the paper,
or find the paper
~
in a large room place your voice next to the blank space
~
when it is time to do something
remember there are at least twenty-four options
~
get young black teenagers
put their pants on backwards
sell a million records
~
buy a car
commercial
take it off
the air
~
Lunge
~
remember the end is only the beginning
connect all every movies ever made including home movies
to create a endless loop
sit down to watch them
don’t forget to make enough popcorn to last
~
count out each second that you have lived
~
Live each second
that before
you had only
the time
to count
~
read a boot
shoot a gum
run a rake
bake a pier
wear a squirt
build a horse
~
Cement
Clock
Savage
Pencil
~
house
body
light
~
the path of a rain storm is a uniform pattern of rain drops that record the conception of storm from the beginning to the end of it. each raindrop contains specks of the universe that are scattered from point A to point B. once these particles descend and land they begin another journey into the soil to become a part of a planet, that is a source of food and so on.
now picture each particle’s journey as a traceable element in time with pluses and minuses in each direction, zero being the present. each particle leaving its own slight colored echo of where it’s been and where it’s going.
~
Pour your
hate into
a vial.
Smash it
over and
over again.
~
Think of how
animals kill
things using
only their faces
Try not to
kill anything
with your face
~
If I think of it now
it has happened already . . . .
if I see it, it is not longer that
~
Take a year in your hand—
it’s small, rumbles
like an antique
boxcar in a shoebox
diorama. Dare to
squeeze it. Drum
your fingers in that pleasing
way that fingers do.
Let go of the year. Let
your eyes go after it.
~
Take a drum
to an antique
car show. Shower
it with fingers.
Let a set of eyes
say yes to the year
of our lord, please,
go easy into that
Good Friday.
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