home news store events about tweak job

Thursday, April 6, 2017

Even spring has nether gloom I climb its roof and check Orion's posture lean over lonely friend my head aches a shoulder

Even spring has nether gloom I climb its roof and check Orion's posture lean over lonely friend my head aches a shoulder

Where you stud your huntsman belt with transit trance, where you carry 
with you the burden words for celestial bodies, exits, no. Nunh. I grab / I grab
night air almost a yard of damp fiber ache to braid into rope is lasso 
is / is the O quite large enough to encompass but tight enough behold? 
Does my O tolerate the stars' loose sword and person's heat, as well? I wasn't /
kidding. I was. I knew a lot about softening to capacity and then / more the belief 
that every day must include pain might sometimes be hypnotized she's fledgling
on the speckled sand between thirsty junipers, fluttering hurt or new. Hurt
or new. Say it again spell it. Say it in the careless-raked mirror, fresh down 

like fur. Pull my daughter's hair so she'll know how not to live. Crash
my body / on some rocks I chill and call my dad / to mind I really love him
but not because he's a god. A lot of people / know he's a god they were
there when I was born of woman and also the gold crud that issued from his /
joy. I have always made men joyful, then by turns scarred their arms
with their hilts and the dates of their hilts and jilted, nunh. I was never 
jilted. I made them dislike me. Capsized, I swam home deep through thick crust layers
of home you think it's solid but then you soften and the ground softens to you

Under the day, under the grave, under the meadow that shifts its weight /
beside the road to the sea that everyone and river ferries, avec the island, murder wind and mountain
scree running down my cheeks tears crumble a slew of things keep 
going back to stone / get stoned / wonder if anyone loves you like:
Does anyone love me the way I want to feel it right now? Wonder the sun
doesn't burn this place down and change its name for all the shit we talk
about it, getting dark now, our corner privateer, our sheer greens and blues little
travelers against the night's buck. The harbor's fluttering eyelids don't mean sleep. Pick
a tarantula off the low beam where ceiling meets habitat and sing
ride a little pony all the way to town, ride a little pony, baby fall down
clasp fur to cheek, clasp hands not a clapping cuz no one wants your praise 
tonight it's a quiet ode for us who got no nurses on duty, for the still-white
failure of skin and bone, for a song I'm singing hardwrong with my hands up

up, up the back of your shirt, buttons taking time / I'm not willing to spend
to stop here, but neither am I sure where to take you it turns out
every party is a sacrifice. My friends are scared my thighs are shook where empty
my cup comes back filled with a bright taste I'm certain I like it, my name
is salt, my wife's name is dusk, we come from the center, and we sell / destined labor


charm them with your sacred wand. Charm me and think about, without wanting
to / too how easy it would be / to burn yourself among sleepers, to
not care if anyone dreams to speak your name into the whorl while 
a crummy band lights up feeling and your people lay out to either side a channel
of how you be and become membered / remember none of that is here now I've /
got my hands up. What looks like prayer might as well reach into
the dirt grab my wrist and I'll grab yours back and haul and haul like hell

No comments: