Varieties of mechanics
Translations. Responding in an accent becomes derailed, thankfully.
Tracks are built for the unraveling and density-molding names.
What is read, 2nd classical category
Of a burn. More & more I diminish
What is that regular, that rigged road.
When you have been the slow rest of a god. So you move by a
Turn from departure and the expiration.
I think/this. Am emphatic directive.
As my peace, my upsurges practice. Transpostal and transposing.
When ever dominion of firsts, of predestined prisms, meeting chronologies and the green blood
Rose luxuriously, crept into your mouth and your temporal projections. I think, the eyes tulips or holy cerulean
Poppies, at sea, set eyes that mourning species of, I –
Also dreamt of [in presence]. And beside the
Dream, just bereft of shadow. Beyond its shadow, thinks.
You there, the glass of you – the funnel opens and spurns.
The tunnel opening]
The nesting energies, ardent & coursing as the pulses [, seed pausing birds]
It the earth:
A second You (shiver) in sleep.
Quaking, who does the Earth dream of? That
Anoints the lapse of my coast. My friend, my vanquisher – when, despite all this?
It is not
The body you labor over, you fall to.
In that valley language, law, cycles – a climate
Transference? The systems are symptoms.
We both, she and I, are burning sightlines into our veils.
The elemental difference is multiplicity.
Who. Bandage. And how wounds, a
Tainted oil, this echoing lateness.
[Particle. And so if we’re functions, how do we subordinate, how the dead]
To fear, what fear does – make trust, make unworthy my crust in
The hopes of mercy. Oh mercy.
When it is she who is young.
At my derivative. I remain at the valley
Of my derivative, gravitating echo – and I identify the snow.
Now I wander from spirit city where we believed in sacrificial listening.
I go by the man that refracts as a cataract in your mirrors, slides its way
Over me and only then moistened
By this glass sensation, as you
Offer him to myself in the empty sun, and hold
Us together in white place, a green prism, a sudden incubator.
If the city routes to a past city, that swollen in your verdant shape [I recognizant] – is not your shape
But a spirit of changes, a skin deconstructed of will.
The tannic earth, these two crests rising in timescape amongst Us, each dissonant, awake in terror at the pulsing [strangeness, wait around my movement, their drinking
guise, and dreaming wound
Presently, J co-heads killing fields journal of arts+letters, and is working through semiotic capital and the Friend. Listening within performed histories, complex vocal chastity, and peace-engendering ecosexuality. Recent work can be found in DRYLAND & Enclave. Lives in New York.