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Hour 8
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Decomposure
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1
trailing sparks dulled on contact
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until chocolate paper separates
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and winded to jar bucket of stems spread melted turtle/shell buttons
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armed and fabulous
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bridge to utopia from facedown wet strips
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in repose (pose) with left elbow clasped,
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sending knots into lemon and range storage lockers
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salvage soldier's toast from a vat of stirred feathered noodles
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over the shadow air lapse hue shift,
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grows heavy.
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there is no glassy trace the lukewarm pangs
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of waxen double franchised
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turn and sheathed in taut string and tin
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and you realize with terror that behind that complex
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they already have the snow, shining their cuticles
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waiting on the machinery for you to lose consciousness
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in every home a computer,
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every heart an operating system,
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every sky a streetlight.
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venting hall wait across for teal to halve with white peach moire
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split sixteen filler hum
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and hop, hand in the wind, mono eye for windmill
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interchangeable as the words in your job title:
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Il1, 2Z, 5S, O0
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Qide. the best mirrors are unseen
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rain on wednesday, snow on thursday;
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day ships with night semaphore
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REM make a light show or difference
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words breathed solid to dissipate, never netted
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with clawed fingers evading air for contest's year
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3:20 slow motion whisper and broken clock in a pop can (turn around, 2, 4)
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rub your shared experiences together to thud on a rotating platform spiral mall,
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gnarled polyethylene tails wagging at crossed outgive
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then playing full court in a cast, boots and redfinger mitts
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with yellowlined paper
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written three times with dream erosion (sunning)
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sliced bananas, toy fragments in a plastic shell put down twice
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the click of opening jerks time forward a column of teeth,
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?
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evening wave as tracks carve and ebb across another diffused world
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on the wet rock below cat richmond in the shade of tv halo
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alarm stack, "˜movie nite' in the middle
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scaling a one hundred foot chain link fence to escape in winter,
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i've done this before (contentment syndicate applause)
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liberation is mugging and jigging
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in a giant gold watermelon for preteens in minivans
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patriots know which bombings to cheer for
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sanctity of life, makeup, new and improved skin melting action
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branch glass ripples and feedback
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flattened against a wall talking sideways
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something that bleedingedge shrapnel technology can't solve.
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mandatory leatherbound chains. we'll see whose ghost faces share an eye
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when they pave a church for a best buy, pawning
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gardens for pillars for prophets for kings for invisible hands
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tearing pages from flipbooks sunk in plastic bags
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compact handful of ribbons unravelling radio face
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pluck a stippled list with rippled fist (soapstone)
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fix mist in paper cheeks braced for time's trickle and displaced wrists
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tossing torn smudges of a plasticine sandcastle into one of many dustbins
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grain by grain until my arms are so weighted,
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fingerpaint dries pinkedged and sleepmouthed
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eating heels and peel paint shrug in a partial parking lot, the last for miles
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and locking to perpendicular tire irons
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when snow floats on string around the exhale of unseen.
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it's my own defined and combined opposition and compromise
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that constrain the wavered tangles that fuse and collapse each moment
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a burning log pylon with pillars ascending and foam to ash,
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queue clearing review
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support the troops
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cls
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* * *
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they were hollowed out,
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their cut yellow cages too endless to lift
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they were not there.
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the dirt inside their skin
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went too deep to forgive
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that's three more points on the board
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you must be steel to live by the sword
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and darkness slowly covers the floor
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then i walk home
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and night floods the paths ahead
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and each step to relive
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and start tomorrow.
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the blank inside my skin,
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too cold to forgive
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that's three more points on the board
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you must be steel to live by the sword
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and darkness slowly covers the floor
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let's roll
Rachel Platten - Fight Song (Lyrics)
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