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Sunday, April 2, 2017

Once married I had to go to the underworld for a really long time, after which I came to live above the biotoxic soilcrust, but not with you or anyone

Once married I had to go to the underworld for a really long time, after which I came to live above the biotoxic soilcrust, but not with you or anyone

You can kill a phone line / shear the string that stems from rust
sticky-bottomed tin can that sits in the bone in the hand sat
where the tin jagged, where a grin opens a knuckle an airy glancing
but shear it anyway, bloody on this end, bloody on that. Battle-done.
That is. Don’t talk to gods. Don’t put your ear to the source / code not
or open up the voice door where words get in and change

biome to spell. Don’t read aloud the formula of a virus if you don’t want
to be a virus. Don’t say its vows and sing / all night / your friends
were on the velvet crest of a spring-damp hill and their names
were just sitting there fresh / animals stole them / all night,
new cells out on release from your gown and rails. From so many
syringes you lost count. I mean I, I lost count the needle

had been in me such a really long time. And then I went under.

I didn’t have an agriculture to ask where I’d been. Not have to answer /
my phone / to anyone or to say my name correctly any longer than that.
I was down there / longer than that. Harpies came out of my ribcage and sometimes
a species would drip down on me cuz people killed it machines and bad ideas.
Or sometimes / a gust of hot wind on the wrong day portent but my lines were dead.

I shut magic’s face so it wouldn’t call my name or out me.
I shut it like a box you can fuck with but you can’t. 

1 comment:

adams24 said...

I like the two concluding lines; at first "out me" with it's inevitable echo of outing homosexuality slightly irked me; but I think that my initial impression has been replaced by a sense of good, I'm glad for this wording.