Preface.listen to this poem
In the beginning the past was notwithstanding. There was a thicket and I stood inside of it,
piercing a thimble.
you knew she was
down there, didn’t you
I stayed my hide.
My voice through the stacks was a great danger; a far pilgrim so far
from here. A beam repeating, I bore down and twisted
My beloved, the aerialist scanned with her needling
found her– with teeth like~ and she was / and she was and will be him, breathless.
I wanted to grasp, but I’d blighted the corn on my way to gather what I needed: evidence to
suggest me: tooth-embossed belt, plastic chalice, bouquet minus baby’s breath, headache.
Mother disarmed my shawl through her wedding ring & its quality could not pass.
Of course I went on carrying out the sun Of course
I brought out kettles for forensics. I wore a southern accent, a prehensile tail. I could slow it down to ask fine questions.
as if a geode a geode issuing a pietà
could divide forgiveness by lamentations
Hunger like what. Hunger like
What hunger like what?
XX. TO SPEAK THE BOTANY OF LIMBSlisten to this poem
i was born in a land of reckoning. when i came to the water i went for it, foaming in the
motherfucking waves, perfect – in the new world i wore syllables.
i wore my body along some light.
i, worrisome light
forced out of pigtails
shining down on this ditch like jesus. fungus on the water
i am not going to stay here with my hands calling down trees.
none of this red range happened to supply the water with ankles
a little more rouge in the mud
now that i have them i starve off my breasts and in the hospital, wear tweed pants under orange silk. pleasure takes a wall to shatter holes, her mare blind to the zipper. i would love all the lands with my hands on his hymen. scorpion ablaze
i speak the sureness of bread. all warmth violent. a cup of light erasing
the wall i answer to the floor. i have the mouth for taking it
a trace fetters my hands even with great fear
to be astounding. i move inside me. i let the cling fail
then escape my eye, crease in a folded face
through the wound. passing water.
eyelet penumbral, carry me to a history; the bull by her golden braid.
my harness & my opera glass. to look at me, god sent silence. my light shone to ash.
did you call me girl?
i am not who you think
but i am.
XVIII. RICOCHETlisten to this poem
this is my appleseed // i am going down
in throat glow.. suck
to the bone, hilt of the deep-sea,
thumb striking off ember, her cock
disguised by darkness she throws
at herself, lips on the trigger. her nipple
could burst and scorch
a place for passing.
her mouth & clamps
down. the shoreline
a fist reflexively closing
in amidah & trees.
if there could have been
one, i would have carried the way
around it. would’ve blown
datura past the threshold.
my love, this
this is for flame.
on the roof
in a storm
where the steam starts.