By | 11 June 2013

for simone gelli

what the streetlight is thinking is over her head

her body a tongue depressor on the white line

silence enclosed in silence
is not silent enough
when we realise
she is not dead
nor are we alive
in the moment
until it ends

equipped to use her body
as a crayon

empty all colour into this colour
this colour is this word

the bitumen not as famous as it is black
unable to get off the ground
despite the collective warmth
of uncounting roadkill prayers to a tyre

equipped to use her body
as a crayon

do not empty all colour into this colour
this colour is not this word
is not even in this word
as uneven as this word is
I AM prepared to quote it
to avoid where I AM
to not quote where she is
to myself who is not her colour
but who is in this word
where she is ←

do not empty this word into her colour

her mauve dress of a length


too short to be a life
she pulls down what is not there
an aid to skin migration
under hands small enough
to be declared a country

light unsaddled from the moon
is denied its surface to rest

unrehearsed laughter in a backpack
caramelises inertia at a train station

a flattened heart
is kicked about a food court

pleasure is formed in the same way it dissolves

you are in the queue to sign the lease on this situation

the torpedo is being measured to fit the aquarium


using this word to levitate

her body

a row of teats bloom from her spine
produce a milk curtain of reflective paint
overflows the mould containing her night shadow
enough to squint two pair of male cat’s-eyes in a car

her hair dyed with reflex from an incorrect breeze

sometimes black is too much an absence
light overthrown by the macheted hand
at the switch

no invitation is known to exist
no invitation is known to exist

to exist is no invitation to

when is when
when is when
when is when
when is when

throw an answer down the hole
and wait for the splash

the three of us
still skeletons
when laughter ripples

her head is a beaker
chemical parrots on the rim
crack her thoughts

too green to convince this language into its sentence

there are too many worlds to orbit one insect

we will cancel this trajectory of reason
until her power is restored

we read her eyes as radar
her pupils red blips
in a race to our boundary

she is without shoes
nowhere to walk
lying under a streetlight
to two judges in a car
banging silent gavels
on the dashboard
speeding to zero
with the handbrake on
a teenage body
in the back seat
in the glove box
our weapons to misunderstand

asleep in the wound
before it’s made
she will be asked
why she is here

you notice a bull ant on her toe

the white line is restitching the bitumen

echoes too shallow to be water
are nonetheless for drowning

lipstick on a spoon is for eating

carried to our stomachs
we digest each other

brains pumped by a windmill into space

the two men in the car
are not the two men in the car

two men in a car

an arithmetic safe from allegation

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