Friday, February 4, 2011

256. lost double heart neckless

O, shit,
and fallen out of

as she’s fallen
in unsteady happenstance
so many times out
of her bra

How the saying went
or words together to make
what we were

flesh vegetables

she and I in togetherhood
and so’ve found
what slip it takes
to fall down, to come
together, to make
the fragile pottery of a life
in two

Differences pattern themselves
out into the clicking
of the world’s workings

in what we might say would
be the outlines of snowflakes
whose weight comes to ice
yet melts into tongue

as it’s saying or said

so we would sing through
the snowstorm to
disappear it

All these miraculous
disappearances precipitated
by snow

and it’s snow

that breaks two hearts
or stops them
into pacing rather than

If ire, if
this fire burning up my feet
to ankled twisting, if I are
ever well wrested then
wrestled out of
stations of placements,
foundations of
self . . .

you see, it is not
that I write but that
I am found in media
but restless and moving
through the patterns
that the sounds make
upon me, who am
but a page of a book
burning in the face
of the fire

(my poetics is of
the second part and lost,
something funny
about that, but I don’t know what,
my toes so burned
by flames)

I have not lost “a
double[-]heart neckless [necklace]”
but I have none
and’m almost neckless
from years of
evading the noose

a knot is not
nothing but what gnashing
can hardly loose, labyrinth of
rope, or loveknot’s mirrored
movements of one into
a symbol of two,
twisted & twinned

I am tree
in the forest, leaf
on the branch,
vein through the leaf,
green blood pulsing
through the vein

and we are come
to gardens of thought,
wintered out into memorie’d
gardens, or dreamed
through them, though
sleepless, right out
into morninged daylight.

No comments:

Post a Comment