By | 1 December 2013

It stood, sweating
pages of ash.


Stretched days stare
from stone and grass.

I run into their light, regretting everything.


My fingers hook and unhook.
Listening to voices
hover up the wall and long bottles of flame explode.

The track lies
behind, shadows sleep through.
Turn it all upside down.


You were young then

floated on water

and might have come with me to the sunken creek.

Now I bend
reflection flattens me

Now everyone has fire
they sit still.


Embers jump from my mouth,
weeks collapsing.

The sky flies on.


I’ve cut the evening

my face locked
one eye at a time.


The warm dimensions of mist
move with me;
storming breaks ahead
and I blink forward, off the plain.

Do you have any idea


Over itself the river’s drag
firm. Ascent

from paper soft with stench & thwack
of current hurtling.


If a thin touch
spells out
down river

already I’ve passed you
(the banks brave, first star)
raising myself in time.


My last face was streaked
with open water, buds caught in its silver
streams like mouths.


Swamp bedding.

From its pattern
I separate
each blade clear—
no myth, I wade clueless—
the polis of moss in my ears.
Slowly twisting trees
crash to cinders.


Your spine like smoke.


The whole year is stripes
and grids of appetite;

wash away the surface—
eat it through.


Into the apartments of sand
I entered flat under the door.


Night tightens its grip.
Like an old moon

I rust in the pool

skinless and mineral blue.

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