recoil–a kind of record: in 31 weeks

I.

we all looked and could see nothing

what are we supposed to see

what are we supposed to see

the inexhaustible

the inexhaustible

horizon

 

torn from our hands

Valéry said

I cannot repeat

don’t be so dramatic

the sun fell

in time

the sun fell

 

we spoke of things

one spoke

in the dark

outside

another answered

Valéry

you have to answer for

you have to answer for

him

 

do you have the answer

hidden

in a fold of skin

hidden

between your lips

hiding

behind

the everyday

 

around him

grew the desert

the desert grew

and every day

there

there you are

knots in his fingers

his whole rag head

rag and jag

Buster was not his name

Buster she said

was not his name

 

she whispers

come here

wraps you

wraps you

in grease proof paper

and she wraps you

there you are

well at dawn

there you lie

tied up with a string

a prayer

you cannot answer for

 

II.

she said

I’m going to talk to you quite openly

and she

apologised for her vulgarity

 

is there a way onward

Juana

by Gamboa

the western cordillero

 

a patch of vomit

made up of the lights

of Bogotá

 

cupped in the hands

of a thousand digits

 

figures of bone

walk the western

horizon

 

still recognisable

moving without acknowledgement

you are watching

 

relations of yours

I ask

 

you trap me in fucking

you trap me

we shut up

we know

 

the identity

we need to show

indifference to

 

III.

Is it time

a sheering

a shelf

the world

borne up

by what

Is it so much

 

Is it time

by the capillary action

of years of photographs

of looks

of looks lost on one another

Is it so much

 

I had no idea

daylight would be

like this

I had no idea

of love

in the daylight

 

Your eyes are blue

volcanic lakes

 

without depth

without heat

 

simply welling up

so much time

 

IV.

I am very happy

you could hear the risk in his voice

he rubs his penis across her waist

the danger

 

what did you say to me

did you say

too much

too much of looking over the precipice

too much of walking around and around

in these dark rooms where I live out empty days

Cavafy

 

and the stripper

with her hair glossy running

down around her breast

curling into the hollow

of his loin

in a bituminous river

 

approach

retreat

take hold of yourself

and girded against the unexpected

smell

get a good grip

 

the small of her back

wipe your finger

pull the latch

open the window

a light breeze

with the tang

of revelation

 

V.

but I was just angry

every night

No not every night

every night and always

every night

 

what happened last week

anyway

every night

I can smell dogshit

 

my body boils

is the pit

in miniature

a model of hell

no light escapes

and the light in the cave is not reassuring

although it dances has the highpitch whine

of a blade of a wire a single strand spitting

in a vacuum

no relief just the superimposition of totem

animals one over another over another over

another incessant pull gravity and

the vanity of man

 

who should commit suicide tomorrow or tonight

who should give himself up to the pull of the Platonic

the shadow does not me

shadow does not

not me

 

what expression escapes

mortal danger

or should I say personal

but vanity should emote

 

I should kill myself tomorrow or tonight

I should take my life

 

VI.

I am as I age wrestling with the idea of affirmation

a long death scene follows which I do not make up

when I return turn when I return the idea of a room

come on now they have his hands come on now rubber

fingers in mouth in arsehole inside a rummage sale of

public private interests like you when I return the idea

it’s not the first time you are dying and you have never

been disabled in my sight you have been old before you

before you have been a woman and you and have been

the child of a woman come on now like you I return turn

to at no instant where hesitation has a chance of being

being thrown by the who said the dark lady who said I

I have heard borne witness to grown men screaming

when

undergoing this procedure I climb in and out of bed

like you new angel angel new I cannot turn my eyes

away each thing returns at every instant I like you

heap up before myself

 

VII.

 

can I ask you

it is raining

a kind of

weeping

from the sky

can I ask you

 

first a prayer

 

I start at Wednesday

do you sigh

do you say

or

are you silent

silent as each of my days’ poetry

as the prayer of the poem of each day

wind in wires

a bus that comes

 

the girls the bus girls speak about truth

about truth and beauty about truth and beauty

and innocence

can I ask you who is true to type

who is who who is not

truly

and how high their skirts were at the ball

 

Saturday unclear to me now

now a shadow deforms in the heat

 

what awareness does it take to form

long shadow of meaning

what else will you take

creeps over horizon

 

truly the 6th of December

dressed for all weather

packed front and back

a witch boarded a bus witch

hat green rib sweater

backpacked and fanny pack

with four blond daughters

 

her golden ones princesses

numbered four

white ducks

a black bordered photograph of Blanca

someone doctored for instagram the lost goose

her white flock left behind

 

to shed tears at farewells

and return

home

 

amply in the wires

Eliot the wind said

Christmas came

 

a song at least one said

are they not innocent and beautiful

and untrue

 

VIII.

scream and climb the ribbon

light onto horizon

 

 

and climb down

pointed legs

a spider dances

with white legs

 

darkness complete

as moon whiteness total

and toxic trees

small furred and feathered bodies

a lunatic enters the field

 

it is the new year

 

IX.

how have you chosen me before you have chosen

how

out of a fist tight cocoon a shadow deforms

a prayer first

and a saying opens

creeps

 

before you there was then the dead hour

Eliot Tiresias life

a feather on the back of my hand

 

wind the wind the wind

the wind that knows all has been foresuffered

foresuffering all

the wind knows amply knows the wires

 

and if he did not believe

then she spoke I have not

not the numbers not with me I have not google

not with me not

I have no cell

I have not

not I

 

a halo flew from the sun

to her head

from saying not I

ecstasy of saints

children

 

I saw this on the 7th of January

the day after my son’s birthday

Saturday

 

X.

I never thought

we’d be in the same place

 

but here you are

in the same place

you took off

every excessive movement

 

a burrow a loin

every extravagance is

the very extravagance of

the presumption

 

there you are

everything

you have taken off

 

a presumption

 

a stone

a luxurious muff

 

a last possible moment

a last possible

before I

am

 

XI.

he is without any

struggle

they say

he is without

yet he is

yet is he

inside it

 

he is inside his own

inside

he is inside his own

 

and he has himself

knows his heart his mind is clear

his mind is made up

by a maid when he gets out of bed

gets off the bed strangling his cock

in the sheets and gathers of the sheets

the throng of sheets the throng gathers

 

he is shat he is jizzed

soaped and scented anointed

with a careless hand

supercilious unction

 

and the maid has only helped him

with careless hand

gathering the wet and knotted sheet

cleaning the toilet

 

living the again again

the again again

workaday world Shakespeare

 

how does she read

how does she fare

better

 

he has deeply sorry sorrow

at depth neither drug can reach plum

no alcohol nor love love frack up

love passion he has without

he is without suffering

 

whose tongue said it all for him

her how did it all get said

 

he has a sorry sorrow deep

dumb inside

he has himself

inside

 

on whom is bestowed the fat

fat of his hand of his anointment

he has throttled his white poem

in a hotel bed Wordsworth

the again again of his oil

all this

 

all this he has

he has fat

he is without kneeling

is his legs apart

is huge with being

his legs apart he has

all this inside snorts

 

how did it come

to be how did it come

all this all

 

a machine wash for your shit

a machine for jizz again again

the poem wash

 

does not kneel

is without kneeling

wash the poem

this instant

 

 

grey

is the water

 

grey the days

midweek the midweek days

turn grey

 

daydream grey

daydreams

 

outside every classroom

so grey

 

sweetsmelling grey of a thousand years

a thousand sweet from now

now this instant old us grey

sweetsmelling dust

 

so grey so

day dreams

classroom windows

thousand years from now

 

thousand miles from here

 

so grey so

also out of reach

forever out

 

my hat is grey

my heart is

will the object of our hearts also

 

will the object of our hearts be grey

 

will your eyes open on mine so

day dreams

classroom windows

and thousand thousands

 

will I dream in them

look forever out

forever out dream

this instant

 

 

XII.

bang a gun goes who fires a gun

safety first then pull the trigger

chooses to here we are

in a classroom you in front of me

in front of him her see the kickback

in your eyes before the mortal weight

of the piece before the shell report or bullet

before just saying points at you in front of me

bullet arrives safety first no then a bubble

pops up no then pull the trigger a bubble

blood pops up of blood it is of blood the kickback

pull the fucking who decides lives gun points

bullet arrives with a sigh in air a human sigh

and human blood not spider blood see just saying

a window opens a window breaks open gun goes off

cartoon window cartoon bubble cartoon gun black

and white grey outside is it the shooter your thought

is in the bubble red is it his thought your understanding

instant an intake of breath a sigh and outcome say

you were not equal you were not equal but free not equal

free you are now you were not you said to the world I am

not in I you said we we are not equal not to this world this

and this before the world you in front of me in front of him

her I am not equal before the world judge me before the world

judge me this

 

I contend that not only are we unequal you and I but equally so

equally unfree

 

and keeping inside the same frame you are saying well you are

writing in blood

 

you for me together we are engaged in trade and this is all happening

on the outside

 

where everything matters where nothing matters here in the kickback

in the black and white

 

XIII.

withdraw to the foyers

we shall stay friends

the wind blows hair and papers that

could be skin and human

dust the chaff hulls and seeds that

hands have released fall dismally

from a violent place I sharpened

my eyes fell on them

I can’t explain except that

I’m out of my mind

 

outside on the threshold

outside the threshold a peace

certainly they took a peace that

came from my assurance

a peace comes down to them

it still comes down to them while

I am dismal and uncertain

 

do shadows explain the clouds

do shadows explain the dark

shadows move behind the glass

do shadows explain the monstrous shapes

a monstrosity moves out in the bay

 

is it cooler here yes

you can see my fingers wiggling

from between the louvres

 

XIV.

define muscle

shoulder whole wheel

week

axle-tree

 

in all things he will excel me

Knausgaard

Karl Ove to his son

as a son from the point of view

of love my son asks me

to reattach the sterile patch

quickly his wounded arm

 

he will be leaving is it for us

is it for us to carry on

quickly to carry on

 

define muscle turning on the axle-tree

I can think of no better thing to say and

have no greater wish to wish him

I will tell him I wish that in all things

he will excel me Karl Ove said so

 

quickly I reattach the sterile plaster

to his open sore

 

 

it is inexcusable to use the phrase mortal weight

in an invented scenario I don’t believe abstraction

gains any height from it I don’t wish to pontificate

and inexcusable to lift the straw man of the left

on the railroad of disappointment China Miéville

imagines is a railway to invent imagine

a wanker in a hotel room or suicide I am her

do I clean do I wash am I soiled it is

from the wound of my mouth justified

wound we share we who have opened

each other’s legs

 

sickles

 

XV.

sometimes I feel I can take more away than they can

but it isn’t true Is it

the story ends the song goes on the dirty pacing on goes

the end the start the knot the kick at you they

are not your clothes

 

arms cross over

uncross cross over

uncross on goes

man in his quintessence

 

I feel I can take you wait

than they you wait father is gone

mother gone

in her

they have cut me in half

 

arms cross over

uncross you wait on goes a woman

a woman stops in half

like this there is no more

 

XVI.

can you say it is good travelling with you today love

left out on its centrifugal arms wind rushes in in gales the temperature drops

a severe weather watch is in place

don’t get lost in the void says Roberto good advice spinning out

of control very good I have always been told and by various people in

my life a mortal wound under skin of the air and hot breath of sun chill of a

surgery knife and the fizzing dreck mote and seed caused to infect me a pellet

burning chill and been called to cut it out I lay on my side in the corner I

the stain on the mattress one inseparable from the other heard Nico sing and

felt the pounding of the outside on the inside vein in the needle and knew

knew machine in the ghost no one must grieve over knowledge but must we risk

we must Bolaño this world

 

pop

love is inside out

 

XVII.

What about the days we choose to live

Lima’s words

The idea of destiny is a phrase that says

they are coming to get us

it is completed by another

go out to meet them

in Gamboa shadows lighting fires in caves

or is it Bolaño again

lost images

poems and

a lump smells

recoil we do know at least a part of us does

questionable girls

because a girl rolls over

because of a mistranslation the part with no

regret the role of the girl is

in question and

old gods do die and new gods do

appear

appear

Jesus in a hotel room Tosches’s Jesus girls

pay to take him in mouth a part of him

Nick’s word irrumates

a part of us remembers paradise

 

but I told him the date and then said

that I had been running across the street

to help her

when I was hit by the car

Straub is it so strange in both Peter S. and Bolaño

there are casement windows

 

a lump smells

a life swerves

a green stares up

at

lunch

her legs

 

XVIII.

the tongue coils across the beach you can see its pattern

can you

17 thousand bucks just to put the two pipes together

licks inside

rim of the bay and at another juncture

the tongue curls around can you do it like this

you can scream if you want to

but you cannot change back

 

why with everything over everything I thought at one juncture I’d say everything

still leave pain intact

the still the leave impact recoil or kick 17 thousand bucks

just to put the two

the just the put the pipes together you’re talking in a voice

everything over

at the unknown university with everything over

everything still

still you can

 

say tuesday why does he kill me with his love

say tuesday why does he does he

accuse me with his love

say tuesday why

use me with his love

 

the just just the two I could say everything I found your hair

a short pin with a berry red top the second most powerful man in Auckland

short

statuesque

you can see its phlegm

 

XIX.

Karen says Old History Now

I only care about the present well three things

at this time

in this light

we can say

in Deleuze on Foucault places things in reverse order

friends do

we can say one can say it is said at this time to say on

the limit

of the sayable

 

and in light of saying this in this light

I make a little poison to put in

friends do

this chalice

not enough to kill to pass from my lips

to yours I slip a little in

now a sip

 

these things through being said to say

to say this now

to see this now

to feel the poison take effect

take hold I make a problem

three parts

I practice

a charm

 

hidden in a fold of skin

hidden

between your lips

 

a secret passed from one to another

the other’s small touch of madness

I am forced to write in secret

 

Caetano said today Caetano said

the most transgressive

you can do

is play quietly

 

force public recoil

in private

in private recoil

from public sanction

 

I dreamt you’re a cunning man was repeated thrice

you’re a cunning man

you’re a cunning man

you’re a cunning man

if you know so much

and bit off his lips

 

why do you love me so

am I

not difficult to love

 

the turn the rest move away they turn

to their backs I yell

I feel the poison take effect

difficult to listen

love

a very rich speculation

friends

to whom I can say

this is the time

and these are the stakes of the time

 

take this cup away

 

XX.

do you see the bird cross the path the rainbow on the cup the chainsaw behind the curtain the thin boy the screw perilous bridge the leaping heart the choice of many the flare of absolute conviction the style of noone but yourself the slouching police the distracted mother the ignorant the soft screenlight the milky fingers in the milky face the blue dapple the green diode the dabbing palp the paddling in buckets the pus burst the gangrene flood is it the nitrous laughter flush complete recognition so I agree I strongly agree I slightly I curvature of night I paroxysm of spine I access of weakness and and exhaustion I rub the edges off the eyes lose all abrasion the face smoothes the critic cuts the wrist the only wrist to ever hold you the wrist falls the words defeat limping we run after for a survey for a souvenir the sample jar half full is it and half again and half in our economy the craze the care the flight no flight where to name is to name again chemicals break it down the elements to praise the elements

 

XXI.

nothing white flower in autumn half a year amounts to nothing

nothing bursts half a year on the cactus flower what are these nothing

nothing good riddance that cactus why do you ask nothing

nothing if you ask me what are these dreams amount to nothing

nothing good riddance white flower in autumn half of a year split

nothing year nothing half half nothing

 

amounts that dream dreams an amount

amount of water of blue nothing inverted imagine can you

a mountain inverted an amount dreams a mountain is dreaming

ferries on Lake Baikal dreams of capture of caught and trapped

blue nothing

 

a Chinese tree in watered ink white flower a dry river wells of violence

a shadow is it but clean on horizon cut by one hair brush a single filament

of disaster of violence accepted

horizon above below horizon is the page fluid all its ends and sides cannot

prevent and stop ink from running off is page all of time

autumn

 

nothing

 

XXII.

what did you say to her

I was wrong

 

enormous ladies of the morning

reverse the trend of fat young men

 

the ad reads sex for life appears often often appears on a facing page appears to mean sex for life for not against a struggle struggle not effaced sex for life for a life appears not occluded appears to appeal to sex unexpected to mean what do you mean what do you mean to say men an appeal for men an appeal for one for one meaning a sentence sentence of life life sentence an appeal against

for a life

for a sex a sex for a life entirely unexpected for

not against what part do you see for this health this health this health I will not practice inclusivity I will not participate in my own capture

struggle for life affirm without occlusion

 

disjointed disparate in flight effaced

events repeat and

writes Piglia for Renzi

Ricardo Piglia for Emilio Renzi

expand

off into the distance ever ever ever

 

trail your fingers ever in the blue reflected sky

the Bacon dust

 

Blaze on your fingers bring your father

what did you say

he saw you brought

I see my brother

he saw you brought to him

something

off into the distance and now coming forward

says you brought to him

his own

my own

something

dust from the studio

his own

my own

 

swelling anticipation rising from a deep mind place

a space of air

unburied

and a turn a split

I was wrong

I said what we were all expecting

didn’t happen

something

entirely unexpected took

its place

 

sex for life

the old man hits the dog

 

the dog escapes

what does the dust say

when the dog escapes

explain

the existence of ideology

the German ewig ewig ewig doubt

 

he hits the dog

hits him and it’s a bitch is it

hits her

hits her and hits her and hits her

 

the risk in explaining her captivity

the risk in explaining something

intimate the more disgusting the less

fat young men

doubt

 

and when the dog escapes she runs away

off into the distance ever

 

and the old man searches for it desolate

desolately unexpected

for her I said

 

will not participate in my own

will not participate

he searches for it

 

he searches for her

desolately

 

throughout the city

 

XXIII.

the extreme poverty of Moerewa

a poverty that not poverty

contrasts with a smell

not te ika the eel tuna not that

neither a full range of offals

and associated products

including foetal blood not the smell of

the freezing works

 

the fronted up houses the shops boarded

nor the café boarded where stones on every table

fresh smoked eel we said taking pride of place

taking pride in place the whenua

whenua

 

a poverty at the roots of the hills

haunting porcelain animals

on windowsills

 

in the lightning trees

at the tips of each darkness

nodding recognition

 

my grandfather built my grandmother

nana

a similar house

rich for being stucco

in another works’ town

Konini

Konini Street from folded blueprints

he proudly kept

 

rich for having a porch

deep enough sunlight

never penetrated no

 

not that smell of rosewater oil of Ulan

that overtakes me now of ripening fruit

in the laundry loo and pile of mags

I’d sometimes find a porn one

overripe in the pale green tongue and groove

 

the meatworks where he

call him boompa not poppa

rode to every morning

on the fixed gear black bike

for sixty years

 

and sweet smell fruit rotting in the grass

the Bay so fertile call it the fruitbowl of a nation

so fertile it rotted

what nation

 

he dreamed of travelling to the Rhine one day

and on the aeroplane sedated and confused

the drugs for Parkinson’s Lorelei

he left his seat in his socks

and shoes behind padding down the aisle

to the door and with intent and pride intact

he turned the handle opening the hatch

to walk outside

 

no what smell but health and hygiene

a compression of hedges

Kerikeri

with no outside.

 

XXIV.

on a rough crossing of Lake Baikal

I am inside a water droplet

on the glass of my actual ferry

following in its saltwater course its

odd

distorted horizon

 

on a rough crossing of Lake Baikal

I can’t wait to tell you simpler things

how the wind is gone round to the East

bringing cooler air and

a drop of four degrees

 

on a rough crossing leave by the fast clock

return by the slow

 

crossing suicide notes

why not death threats

 

Piglia writes on Pavese

that the purpose of the diary

is to make suicide

possible

 

that smell of morals and lyrics

when poetry if it exists at all

it is at the oral limit

 

we count the stones on the beach

what nation what beautiful was

every stone

one by one

we count the elements

 

the void

space

time

lekton which is for Emmanuel Levinas

poetry and

on its horizon

 

XXV.

I wrote

the children

the vulnerable

shitting fucking eating

two of these you do not tend to do in groups

I write my hands cry

the earth

the reversal of the earth

pity for the poet

for the poet is of praise

 

for the praise of she

for her understanding

awful understanding

I wrote that truth should stand still

for she is full of praise

daylight spent

morning light

 

he praises on big feet

the plinth a monumental stick figure

 

his brain his big brain all its slick technology

in the spent light

for nothing but the violence

of shitting fucking eating

 

folds the air

into her mouth

be still she said

excuse my sex

 

today my hands write

pity for the day

 

XVI.

Two of these things I cannot live without

live without anticipation

live without the expected or the unexpected

live without a long time left

live without love

live without my heart is broken

live without my home

live without lost time

live without the wit of the old queers

live without wine or Russian vodka

live without affordable tobacco

live without health

live without answer

and without echo

 

I left the streets I walked in the light of emotional lamplight I burrowed into the city it was Christchurch built on alluvial planes riddled with aquifers one day to erupt hiccup flat by bodies in a terrible clarity long coats all the contours pushed into a tiny spectrum corners in the smallest circuit so you turn how can you not know where you are by the river by the square by the curve of air by the mist and smoke in your mouth by the hunger and the thirst

 

I don’t know your name

are you next

can you live without your

insides

 

her red hair freckles long black coat pockets safety-pinned a fingerless glove she reached me out of her heart a long splinter of glass ice her lucid eyes handed me it saying you’ll be wanting this this bottle of gin you are a miracle

 

are you living here now

Sydney is it

every one with a view

of the ocean

 

speaking from notes

without saying a word

are you next reader

without

 

knowing how she could know all dimensions anticipations collapsed hiccup flat a door miracle flung open ahead it was Sydney and the dress rehearsal had gone long into the night I carried my daughter trains buses stopped for the night hills of the city curved in the fired air she slept home a far line distant in the hills along the curved night in the fired air a white door I didn’t know it was a taxi until her I poked my head in in my arms and he said where have you been

 

I’ve been waiting for you

live without reason

in your finitude

you’re here now

 

XXVII.

is it hope brings you here today to my office to my study to my surgery to my room

i can feel you pressing your breast on the curtain your breath your blood on the curtain

who is your people is your apology for what are they what is it I’m sorry I’m so sorry what for

first they first first they searched the body you left second they turned the studio upside down

like a vase the flowers were dust they inspected the dust on their fingertips third they moved through the rooms

systematically unearthing what hope for them new notes in named envelopes a vial of morphine like old days

a glass of teeth a drawer of repeat prescriptions and boxes and boxes of drugs what have i left out

what left you you who like Bolaño cough when i cup your balls people you loved

let them go

cough the sisters you had the brothers and the missing twins like a movie the old man takes off

his underwear hanging on to a leather strap that dangles like the old man from the ceiling of the bus

 

XVIII.

it is ultimately sensuous

your scarf

my beard

pornography

 

to be human

faces the challenge

of

my poetry

 

and what it means

your laughter is

I behind I

deeply

 

is how you mean

how you mean

to proceed

originally

 

weave the future

and a future in recoil

a kind of record

of sexuality

 

from here the

horizon begins the

looping of a spine

kind of human calligraphy

 

XXIX.

bloodspots on the strawberry hem

laughter in the trees

like with like again

I am surrounded in my disbelief

 

by wonderful and inexplicable reasons

a needle is suspended in the air

threads the sky its origins

the fictions of a scientific feeling

 

other than that

the world parts its lips

through the water

trail your fingertips

 

David the sky today

deep azure

and I can find only

my own

original mind

 

Leonora Fini’s voyageurs one sitting one lying in rest leg bent en repos I misread as voyeurs resting or put to rest the painter covers their eyes with a folded cloth they are expressionless androgynous are they at least one is not entitled to say but that the cloths over each are their eyes shut one is not entitled to say lave the brows of each rest

you have earned it voyeurs because you have not come far you have in fact not come from any origin except a certain style, a certain foldedness—as much as the folds bear a kind of sightless witness to in the cloths covering the brow of each voyageur

traveller

blindfolded to vision because not sleeping either sleepless and not entitled to dream what work they have then done the seated one behind the one lying one leg bent behind the other and what might possibly arouse them from well-earned repose to return to it to the fabrication the fictitious fabric sussurating gown of a mistress or a master did I mention their youth medieval or preraphaelite attire at whose behest they what laboured voyaged viewed or gazed on who leaves them who replaces her gown and he his robe, whispering softly through barely parted lips it sweeps the floor behind, in the hallways, in the archways, aisle and cloister, leaving them sanctified by what they have seen, what work it was

now rest

to look what is inexplicable and wonderful to have traversed all feeling, to have found there all good reason and to have there been granted your repose …

 

by what right

state the question

tonight alas the tongue of truth alights upon no tooth”

to have it extracted by a screwdriver

blood spotting the mask and lips

 

by what right spit it out

the paper besmirched and soiled

the bill

 

by what right to say

or cross it out

 

by what in this climate

in this socio-economic says Bolaño

better to live

undercover

poet

 

XXX.

Do not speak this blessing

itwillenslaveyou

we did not know he penetrated her apart from her expression

blank possibly drugged mystical

and should peace peace is a sheet

a cool white sheet a clean and ironed one

expressionless

soothing easy eyes

good tears dripping in excess is it from their folds

secreting oracles

 

a dribble is a gathering together of images in a droplet

it strings secreting strings threads pearls in its secretion

as involuntary as a symptom

notatallunwilling

the will which hidden will seep out

in the night

in the night emissions

of satellites

 

and should peace peace be upon them

which is a sheet and flicks at their genitals

with the folded rectitude of paper

wet from the pen dripping ink

and albumen every edge it over

tang of egg or orange is it

inkwet in the sicklehairs

 

say it with sex say say it with art of lying

forgive the intrusion the cage was empty

and in my hand a group of opioids

a birdwing flaps drug it and in my hand

on my hand featherlight another

heart beat another open void

it overflows and in my prescription

does it in my script these lines

 

arenotcrossedout

 

XXXI.

getoveryourself or you should know when to stop are not the same pieces of advice

but you are not listening to me you are looking at the image of an idiot on the screen

an idiot boy Bolaño says—right in my ear—the image of an idiot boy—and i am overcome by a feeling of wonder at how great it would be it is to be a female art

a female artist a woman first, second—they are not the same pieces of advice—you could—one justifies another—produce the most overtly sexual and sexualised imagery

you would not be guilty of sexuality—and I am fore-betrayed by knowledge, memory, belief one does not justify another duplicitous amongst the victims blending in, before a page of prose looking for even yet the flight of a bird & birdsong, time blurred like the wingbeat of a sacred kingfisher [writes Adam Roberts] and

 

my stomach drops

into shallow pans

tripe-white

of my open hands (even yet Fergus Barrowman, replied, some of the lines are simply bad)

facing a page of prose: sometimes life is shit: one justifies another and I accuse the extinguished theatre I mean professor removed from positon by concerted and personal vendetta—what one feels now the other will. INTIMIDATION seemed right closest to our theme but you should know when to stop

the recoil is lost it is political and so it is born: and once it was a child and knew getoveryourself for not having to be a female artist, of a woman first second—at the same—the integrity of the personal gesture of sexuality now the integrity of the gesture was lost

it would not be reproduced, it would not pay to reproduce and once it was a child, and at the same time it is the memory of things, not as they were, thought to be heading in a certain direction, ends unknown, all of a sudden going in a wholly unexpected direction the integrity of the gesture was lost, and the reduction to ends and desires the image of that idiot boy on a screen I see my memory at two removes extinguished theatre I mean professor and yours but you are not looking

and in no wise would it be true to say these two manners of appearing followed one upon the other but that in somewise I know not were they concurrent also Adam in The Thing Itself the thing itself might as well figure thought in the image of the hypocrite not the idiot

we are so many people in the manner of a lost world given the word or gesture of the appearance of victims and I amongst gathered together who don’t who can’t and who cannot recognise a crime who gather together in their want and in their lack of recognition and who do not ask who answers for it, for once it was a child and knew, but that in the want and lack of their recognition its answer goes unquestioned its question goes unasked

which is their question and i amongst and it is like the memory of smoke in a dream that on waking is the image of a face in sand that on looking you look does not ask anymore