the bodies are making it right again
and what they’re making are the spaces
between the names of the cities and the cities
themselves
who have spaces and names for the spaces.
and the spaces have edges and names
for the spaces
where the bodies are making it right.
the bodies forbade us what they
forbade us;
the bodies were set to let go.
the bodies forbade us
what they forbade us;
we let the bodies go.
do you know what you’re making
when you’re making it right again?
I ask only because, longingly and
for the sake of sanctuary
last night’s crust upon the foam
window board afore the head
the musk inside a crest
where the blue should continue
the windows must draw you, the slats
when there’s no other reason
to knock but peeling carpet
upon last week’s walls one shiny strip
return this week’s motorcycle lamp
built into the ceiling without screws
the pens drifting from one wrist
to another when you knew
figure-drawing went too far.
October 20th, 2006 | #
Short Talk On His Draughtsmanship
He would encourage me to move about the studio. Would not give me a pose. Drew without looking at the paper. Drew on the floor. Follow the lines, he would say, watch the surroundings. A thin arm makes a face sadder. Describing shadows he grew small, rascally.
*AC
October 21st, 2006 | #
I got an orange tree, to replace you and all who came before and after you.
Smoke swirling in shaft of windowlight
Suffocating an orange tree
in its one chance all week
to photosynthesize
Air exists only now
in the space between
tendrils of silent smoke
I stood over my orange tree
watching the only sunlight all week
hit its neon leaves
whispering like slow sex
“photosynthesize, baby, photosynthesize now
while you can.”
I imagined chemicals churning
semipermable membranes.
“You my only friend, plantey.”
The greyness smeared across the sky
will be my death, too.
October 23rd, 2006 | #