I was trying to
hold an entire city. I swallowed camels. I pestered gnats. much pain in an
apple. much regret in an apple. eating becomes treacherous.
innocent
Cinderella, disputable Penelope, much hawked after, Athena.
a tear for one
suffering, begging becomes billiards, chaos becomes casual converse.
one is gorgeous.
one is smart. one was unlikely to master magnetism. but let’s go inside
—those caves—the
amygdala—some tiny, inaccessible box: working in rhythm, mocking at turns,
pushy, pulling, fierce, up early, demanding activity.
at times,
tentative to say it, so susurrous, inner-outer collaboration—raw
connectivity—while more capturing than Atlantis: those oaken eyes, those
elongated fingers, while too little, is offensive. a field of forces, esoteria,
hermetic devices; holding in distance, sensitive to arcs, wondering what
brought us into—pure existence, without activity, as threshing a soul’s
apparatus. so great the worry, as total strangers, to need for reasons a sea of
touching—like lost sanity, coming back, so cold— make ice warm.
carousel passion,
a wheel in a wheel poetry, sugarwater washing down marshweed—so wrong to need,
so cruel to desire, it becomes hating oneself.
