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May 2016
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July 2016

June 2016

as for the body

then i don’t let death explain it all —

don’t make it easy to imagine myself as

something else while i’m somewhere else


disintegration just means coming apart — going toward ever smaller bits —

that reminds me of an old poem called The Fish


The Fish

you ate swims now
in ever smaller pieces
through you to your blood

towards a dark room
where silver hooks
wait like dangerous thoughts


so i wouldn’t imagine myself something like a fish or pretend to be the fish

and talk to you like a fish as if i were a godforsodden fish i am something else —

one who thinks of fish and catches himself—an ambush actually—becoming less

himself but more necessarily some unfishy self where death burps off pretentions —

methane explanations of what joy what terror what deafness and blindness

what silly pride what lust what confusion what confusion what ordinary success

what sight what poses what loneliness what obedience what — you know —

love there was.

 

to such a spot comes a fish-free dream of birds and gentle cattle —

of big old trees and good friends and no one poor or sore or broken —

not one bit unhappy or ill-used. and a river.


hence the defenses

Well, panes

stripped away the civil version

I’m left

plainly abducted by a savage version

to chart

energies of a sullen youthful parable

to light

paths I forgot I might have undertaken

I mean

loves that could have resisted civilities

or, maybe,

ramped up some foggy, savage religion


mode: authorized confession, unhappiness

My flawed brain led me to kill all kinds of things.

So. Fixed in place. Fixed to place. Fixed of place.

I killed a public library for starters. I killed bugs

and bunnies. And still needed fixing. Intersecting

imaginarily a life while killing a street a path a

lane. My addiction to this savagery finally brought

me to stage some rather well-known people as killers

of linen paper poetry and more insects small mammal-

lives. Ended. My flaw hit the world in uncoordinated

ways that left most of us ajar askew off-kilter and

nervously expectant. Clunky. Petty. Wasted as oxygen.