string pantoum
She would love to tear
the strings apart.
Thread by thread,
I am.
The strings a part
of me, a person!
I am!
Existing only conditionally.
Offer me a person
made of cartilage,
existing only conditionally,
when the seasons run away.
Made of cartilage
thread by thread,
when the seasons run away,
she would love to tear.
and i see
my love
tied to reaping
reverse invitations
come and blow
this smoke
into our
veins
take
our might
and bury
it deep
Ahold! Next to nothing,
there are fig
ments!
Hollow, hollow,
say hello, to the old
Haven’t I seen
you ‘round?
Click and carnage
come wither and with her
she is a moon unlit
unmet
unfinished
rain is rotary
combat seclusion
carat.
[on the mountains, we parted,
rivers of rivers]
dark in blue, kissing hand
made bones.
livid snapshots
intermission,
mezzo, mezzo.
clear cut tails come quietly
(here are moments where moments exist,
now, not
a singular objection
to time
-a linear unlined, un focused
un-un-un-un)
come coasting quickly here now
dear
(I don’t use o’s so longingly)
kiss the metal plates attached
to my jaw
I carry around a memory
(again, a linear erotica)
hold still, needles pumping
distasteful monologues
‘fuck, withhold, again, again’
merry, merry,
a separate issue all together.
constant crooning
cyclical gears munching up
black feathers
meat pounding
inside you.
what happened
to the Icarus
of swimming,
to the Icarus
of walking?
the ground
ate
him whole.
un.
i want to kiss your voice. its sweet the way it pours down my throat. i wrapped it tight around myself, the slow moving concoction, the amniotic fluid that keeps me breathing.
deux.
i want to be inside you. i want to roll along the thick insides, i want the blood to cling to my lungs. i want to claw at your heart. sit behind the eyes and learn to see.
trois.
anoint me. press your confirmation into my hand. when i read it, the words slip through us. we found them again, buried between sheets. we are the words, words of longing.
fit in infinite. fit in tint, into time and tin. tin tin tin man. infinite land. tin lands with temporary tints. a shade a shade of shadows shadows infinite. fin, fins, and hands. the end is here in your hand.
infinite.
distant tones,
beating fast in your bones.
HEAR BE THIS:
A recording of absolution, absolute emotion. You/Me/I.
out a heart distilled a voracious process of pretty pouts (did you listen to lovely nothings) temper the skin on metal and distant stolen cameras a picturesque vision of shadows
