Page 62 - Iterations:Other/Is

In a pond, in the detritus of noon, in the highfalutin speech of the formal word; played out at room temperature, salted heavily & layered with pepper, does the liver spill over—our gracious bow, never actually present, our friendly hug a pretense to societal collapse, our drinks shared leaving untethered links to further separate sentence from grief & I know that marrow strung tight in and out of tune played con fuoco — whether the bearer can withhold discord or weather; the front breaking upon another, our language unbound. A mouth shut against a door as always a spit inside my side —
the death of y{our} children,
the mouths of bears let to open like clams near both poles of this terra
the picket fences wasted
gills pulled under a thoughtless sink ever running
two taught bass lines running from the corner store to stink of stop light rubber the crippled Gunnison sun streak of scum