what do I write then?

in charcoal

pen & ink

electronic blinking-something staring out from the night

I noticed words won’t curl or grace with dance their stage

& there is sentiment in saying so

& I wish there was not

& in the moon there is memory

but not inside its veil

 

& what do I write then?

limber spiral murmur liquid

teary croak metal carcass

what do I write?

 

here is a forest

& here is a city

& here is something between

way I cannot dissect myself

I must lie

& the lie is a wing body-less

& the body is a lie

& only words can dance after all

 

what do I write in the wingless frenzy?

whereupon it is stillness, even in nothing

I exhume so much terror of time

 

& if only the angles of light were

always in triangular seizures on the wood floors

& if only I could pause my cheek

to catch the warmth

a million trembling sounds

wailing intolerably,

in charcoal pen & ink & white

 

& I’ve stolen charms from time

I skip over the wetness of motors running

& why wet hairs stand or fall

& the density of carnivals greeting muck

& a fissure scales the walls

what do I write in the cracks

of only silence

 

the body is now

curious to know its currents

& if the wish I mouth

uncertainly

were beyond this moment

it wasn’t this

& I wish I’d write a poem which scampered time’s organs & bled little by little & stood balanced as a waterfall

& blooms & trails & scuffling skies & orange dreams & mounds & crickets & incomplete lines & imperfect circles & roads without roads