Page 89 - Iterations:Other/Is

I wander your streets, smoke your tobacco & nicotine & the congregation DEEPLY committed to black widow trash piles left before your home never to be picked up; the bridges burned the islands, closed the god down, paving the streets with #re, gold, and all anyone will make of you is a poem with ink until ink becomes graphe and graphe becomes root and root becomes fallen tooth and as the last mother buries said calcium to bury Wolfsbane does the church steeple #nds its true home as compost under a new moon which lingers not long
you are also making love; the webcam
recording the (esh, to seed the cloud of heaven
which suits you— ␀
I am hungry
breathing soft under the fullness of high def —
emerge from sheet &
count myself —
all the toes ten and their #ngers made to move to count them
soon, I am left to weeping
make the toast from bread
and begin to coat with jam
for your belly as seagulls weave patterns through the glass your father blew
before making himself yellow rubber #sh food leaving you twins to knit the wind
and one, two,
three —
the willow tree sings(again) of — I am mystery memory makes food from my carcass
sprouts leaves in the darkness
burn itself with called lightning, its
cinders (oat between the eyelids of a tideless wanderer & the break of day is as you would imagine
the tucking in of scar
a pulse kept
to keep at bay the pale of your eye
I do not intend to anything
& nothing intends itself to me
am handed a roadmap