I’m looking for a body written in secret lines, indefinable flesh gleaming upward
A moment in the revelatory arc of disowning not-being. taut.
Time passes by in guises, ducking & frowning,
waving, holding out a cocked hat.
where to start? one toe poised over
the threshold of a nunnery
sincere in clarity
devastating of hope in its ungainliness.
i dream the air is full of fishes
nodding past me
& the sky made up of cracked haloes.
i thought i was seeking a specific
encounter: no, animality claws
back at the permeability of distinction.
watch as a flare of gold
lights the roof of its mouth. coincidence?
sly catalogues lay down amid the bushes,
foxgloves, snakes. i am no longer a
native speaker, emotional imaginary
dissents w/ the referents of my habitué.
unseated, i will slowly remove these forty-five nails
from my neck one by one, telling you as i unpick
& toss them away, how each came to be there.
the only way to escape life is to become a diamond or a mirror
or a book, & on certain nights, even i don’t want that. the faces
of our enemies contain much information it would be well to
observe. now there is a kind of shaking part,
where the joints & jaw & kneecaps & organs shudder & flutter
more deeply to remember their being-which-exceeds-language.
caustically retreat. a blaze of gone smells. slowly it is surfacing:
hair flat & gleaming like a palace, broad tectonic structure,
dripping lobes. the trigger, the unmet wounds, the source of all
your glory. dare to part the blue mouth. the gaze is a tunnel
tracking dated hallways of grace. what fear is, a thing which
we call living, sneaking between radiators & fridges, quiet
moments of pausing. between kitchen & garden. between
bus & restroom. between rent & payday. between sending
a message and getting a reply. between grasping & yielding.
between a straight line & its folding. between the sensual &
the airless. between the sexual & the stale. between
waiting & arrival. between hatred & forgiveness.
between fate, & every moment we have not lost. between
staying & passing through.
body of unnameable radiations
dissolving in amniotic syntax:
meet my eyes
A DREAM OF THE CYBORG AS METAPHOR FOR THE HISTORICAL BODY CALLED LANGUAGE
1 November 2018