Page 50 - Iterations:Other/Is

the three of us were in the bed together
everyones hand a stranger, begging from all the chalk —
our cheeks indigo, a gesture of roses boiled,
we bottle sea salt tinctures, sold to future versions of the self whose memory is stolen,
and still cleans the toilet for shelter
⏚
There is a horde of bees residing in the crevice of trees where our brother stores his gin; it might be mine. I can’t remember. But, Isaac’s bluff, I remember that name, the fallen tree, a cryptography revealed as worm food — there is two of us, tongues loosed } shimmying hips in a patch of poison ivy; hips which convex to windeye.
Before the evangelical, the threshing of hair ^cross of forehead
tells of said so brother in wood box via sliver of mass—
the creator could not exit,
raw skin pulled polyester over head in bastions I with limbs humming between disease, skunk cabbage, corpse of a swan lock hands.
Eventually, I said, I would like to transfer the soul of George into that of Canonicus into a temple slick with inner thigh rebuilt on Narragansett Pier; an August independent of July
{There was a horde of pastors, padres, chaplains, priests; who unknowingly unearthed, burned, through debridement this next form
the poet who spits into
gull shit to
from those
who wet
refracts
palm with sea to
glue mirrors in memory of babel cartography thieves
wary of the body