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Hour 11
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Decomposure
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1
Walking hatched ribs set on an airport conveyor belt
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with dead oystergrey birds cupped within each meatbelted basin,
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songs disconnected from first blink
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and strewn across the pale corn wandering for food to breathe,
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each furnished with a screwdriver to pry open his stubborn epiglottis
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and ring a corresponding egg cup's careful palm
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with marble shells blooming a kindled swallow
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and survey with fleshrimmed glasses
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the aquarium's domino current through starspun exposure,
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future noise and present accordion swung girders' tomorrowpractice.
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gelpunched and perched even with the blinds drawn
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It's not defense if you're holding the ball.
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that sticker's not an iceberg, it's the hilt of a sword
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Crawl white pawns in dirty shadow while the grid is quicksand blonde
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to spit their shells earthspoken for the rain's fading glow
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diverted from the dry meniscus tide grass' edged in the dark hollow cavities
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moaning stream through the creamy extruded lathe wallet presets
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linked on the table at the back.
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whitepetal tongue bus pass drops with your necksack,
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making a sound like a ceramic plate being scraped by a butterknife
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your shackled shadow sold from your coal and backpracticed thumbs
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ripping a rictus wide open the distance between real and realistic so
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birds eat onions.
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Turn hearts into attacks
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and a cross into crosshairs
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principles, not polls.
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she kit mobile behind bat seamstress manor
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upsetting a truckful of nails around my personal campfire
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molten contact raised above its brow,
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a knock at freedom friend foyer fishing frantic static and rush
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beneath the falling billowed foot on the vessel eyehanger
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hall knots lured from berber beds to displace elbows in hats
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and cushion skirting knuckles held alternating for certainty.
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mandatory options
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only a painted cel of a cartoon animal
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dithers to gruel and cheekbitten chatter
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picking the taste of sadness' sweet burrs from its tongue
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i'm not sick anymore, yet:
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"˜a million miles away' crouches around a fire
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or stone overbite correction.
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circle in squares,
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smokestack newsprint nails daddy longlegs
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rising from klodhopper corduroy
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but bubbled under thumbs as while greenhouse hair.
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vegetable bagged safety and mouse mug,
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earwigs lighting apartments on fire
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and nepotism ignites onion dome mace
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under tightened cheekbones.
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Pale yellow daydrunk,
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coins flipping on pools of ink in glistening velvet
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and a gaze like planks resting on the horizon,
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summer's empty churches and the
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chicken trucks cut the sleeping town
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Unaligned features, waterlife,
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pinched peach pie crust bulb thinning wet fingertips and puppet arms
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in matte foil green hallway in the thicket behind my left year
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committee seatbelt caught out the door
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red picnic tables
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A calculator with word buttons or amphibian air quotes
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sharing the same dim torso and mosaictattooed sunken face
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* * *
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"˜You know, these people are nice, but they're just very...'
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boxcarred as long vowels inking handout jacket holes
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with the flick of one smoky hand and my mosscovered back turned.
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Pace four hundred metre rain floating coy greenblack attack moth
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to orange snapshots channel swap as perpetual draft
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over a couple teens singing soundless in the wind,
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one hand firm along the dark church walls.
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Obsolete in an endless compound gym,
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and leaving through the trophy case into that same green hall,
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where magnetic monoliths hovered warily in blowout sunlight,
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suddenly spinning and aligning to hug a ghost
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in the black endlessness of saturday morning.
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it spreads out on the table like a pointed cliff:
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greybeard and left row window dimming,
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vocab by erasure.
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Mall a mill churning dust as an endless subway sigh
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stretched across the pathless winter fields,
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new years' bleak and songchoke striped,
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frozen knees planted in night
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a blind tree surgeon printing rust in the sheets
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a full beige stalled ocean chalked on the hopscotch
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apart thanks to variable windspeed static comb
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tugging the pebble past block letters and january death
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to fall unsolved but open
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with thin three by fives halted herring crusted under inkjets
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unreal and unmoving in their cushion.
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Caught tender beyond breathing the shapeless ellipsis
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my topteeth point
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the way the tide is inscribed behind my forehead and
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land warm woven in my own theatre,
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nudging balance bundle as true night begins,
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and an internet ice age moves behind us
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to lock down the debris,
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and first snow's sanded grey sawdust of remainder driftwood
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frames the road as a black-and-white photograph
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hidden under the floorboards
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* * *
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Stationary
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engines running
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black lungs stale,
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nowhere but sideways to go.
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past this point nothing grows.
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You awake uncertain in your car
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surrounded by millions in cars
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thickset on every side
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a single cell in a sheet of sealed silver bricks,
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all jammed handle to handle
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to the hem of the sky
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It's harder bridging
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a lot so tightly parked
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few can hope to depart
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and consolidate a map of the marks of living
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threading these aging tarps,
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extending arms in the dark
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to wear silence like a winter coat
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but written in the breath
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of some faraway windows
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are rumors of a liquid that
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dissolves upholstery and metal like sugar
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if you only could see it
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and flood the floor
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and lose your spot
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to find the edges
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in all that you're functioning through
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Treeline dawning
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Witt Lowry - Into Your Arms (Lyrics) ft....
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