peering from the horizon was my vision of killing.
shooting from these eyes — from my finger, mistake and trigger.
yea I see some beasts out there where the earth curves yea I guess I should shoot em yea I wanna do things yea but only in my dreams.
yeah
Actually what are the
big figures telling me
from the distance?
Making up that picture
in the cloud like the
people you see when it’s dark.
It’s just a coatrack yo
But still
somehow the feeling in
his gut was speaking
in pains. Bells of shop doors
opening and closing,
subway tunnel smells
and warm winds in
this bedroom on the plains.
He forgot each sound his
body would make when
he was in the fields.
Not the morning cartoons
nor the main vent that
filled their tunics with warmth.
Nor the rope that swung
in summer and the hot bins
that shaded the honest echos
of their voice. The fields were
framed with secrets from the wind,
small songs in the clouds, distant
drums and chants, trembling for
release from the freshness of their flesh.
Puckered and cocked, advancing through
the sky like a field. We sought the beast in
the distance, a symmetrically solipsistic
drift above contorted golden flowers.
Dry rigor mortis blossoms furnishing and gilding
the landscape with lonesome comfort.
FOR WHAT WE HAVE RECEIVED AND ARE ABOUT TO RECEIVE
Palisades in colorful tandem, adorn this fabric,
Stain this sea with your enamel. I will build you
in my favorite spots. Places I have chosen carefully,
considering all of the possibilities:
when could they attack me
how could I attack them
what will I not regret
where will be forever?
still staring at the metal
fit between these trepidatious hands
and breathing against my will,
the warm light on the horizon
spoke to me in the Absolute;
they are the beasts
I am the fiend.
Each crossroads is the corner of a container
for a small sea, a reflection of the sky,
where space creates form. In the horizon
I see significance, looming. The
distance between me and the leviathan
is maintained by a string that stems
from my navel.
bibendum 