from April in the Pink Sewer
"My drug is myself." Henri Michaux
Hello.
Where is my
mediocre void
sting me to
drugstore
proportions?
I: a line.
Event: pulses along.
Rhythm: moderating fear.
I wrote
with a single stroke
in the margin
“Alwayswritelegibly.”
Hello: where
do you go
Hello: let us go
to the danger
Hello: steel mill
rendered instant
in air
Hello: here comes
my void
flying from tree
to previous tree
Nohow.
my swarm-stung brother
ran right into
my brain at that time
first
take your plastic
machine gun
break it playing
at killing
the neighborhood children
stick it in the hole
in the stone
the father with his
slow heartbeat
building a scaffold
house sold off
for debt
it was that lilac
time of year
when victims surface
Solid Figures Travel a Bee Line.
I thought (that)
I saw (see)
them killing
(that they are killing)
the man (many).
There is (not)
nothing to have (that)
but the ghost (chaos)
of branches
right through our livers (or)
(right through our endings)
The language (of bees)
is truly (begins with P)
the solving of (with)
the problem with (of)
the limits of
substitution
Forget (that) the m-u-r-d-e-r-s
or the being (too) close
to the sex of others
(that they are killing)
there is (only) one word
(that) you (in saying) say
Write-off.
these organizing
principles
hunger & money
push buttons to
& the project
manager moderates
my joy with
content with
this work in my ragged
patch
of vision
& so on & so
along sexless
parabolas
I donate my reason
to the beasts
in the books
around about me
let them wash
themselves
in the renderings
of themselves
marble memo.
(I am not
committed enough
to watch a 3-
dimensional dance
of bees.)
how do you would
you break & how
a branch of
those branches passing through
the torso that belongs
that cancels out the dance
(In this case vision
is a tunnel
is a placemat
I put my eyes on it)
April
Fools.
I knew me better
than you (do, or know me)
my warning turned
to a brain
&then said oh
&then took crumbling
pills (shut up.) into
my confidence
I always currently
cry when the world
opens (fuck.) the thinking
cannot find
my thinking belonging to (that’s bullshit.)
who is this space
cannot touch the smallest
hole in the orbit
of exhalations
there is no above
there is no below
faces out to here
(yeah.) kaleidoscope
is home. I mean,
used to be.
I knew me better
than you (do, or know me)
my warning turned
to a brain
&then said oh
&then took crumbling
pills (shut up.) into
my confidence
I always currently
cry when the world
opens (fuck.) the thinking
cannot find
my thinking belonging to (that’s bullshit.)
who is this space
cannot touch the smallest
hole in the orbit
of exhalations
there is no above
there is no below
faces out to here
(yeah.) kaleidoscope
is home. I mean,
used to be.
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