Monday, November 23, 2009

Four New Apps


You can't
get it when
you want it,
but when I
want it I get
it; she rolled
over on her
belly, which
was very full,
and slept; its
just shadows
on the wall, I
thought, dark.


To send bodies up into ether
(what does this no one knows)
all flesh become hands that can
clasp (ecstasy of joining things),

to be joined to a part that you
suspected evil of, but is really
only love, is to give thanks for
raised curtains which (sadly) are

doused in your own blood, & as
I join this exultant spirit, doused
in white light, I'm steeped in my
own darkness, death, excrement.


What words get sent up
on sharp frequencies are
fractious, bent from pain,
Hephaestus in iron-groans,
what goes up sticks around,
so that base/top get covered,

all things resonate like pitch-
forks, tweaked by conductors
before their final, triumphant
performance for a hall empty
of bodies, filled to capacity.


Here's where shifts (red shifts)
happen in perspective, I thought,
slopping dark meat onto my plate,
here's where angles converge to
put me past the nest. General
laughter over pictures, womb-
like spaces, but I was in hers as
I was in with them. It hurts, but
he's dead, I never met him. It's
a shame, I never met him. Blood
moves through air: between her,
me, them- leaves on concrete.

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