Page 84 - Mistranslation Laboratory: An Unfolding

a slide to scuffle
the mythology of integration
it rolls, a marble
along the spine,
it rolls, a whole marble collection, into the drain of the past,
leaving just a flag frond of unexpected loss & perfect colour, upon the elbow, the fingertip, the air, the snuffle,
the opening window, snufflecopter
check the plunge lines
and measure everything through the fulcrum of the hip
Everything in the world
smacks
with ice and shock
into the white
containers we only half, no, quarter, no even less,
undreamt into by accident
each lift is cellular each
swing of the toes is separate to something each separation
is a form of lifting
you hold
ashy bark in your elegant hands
you hold these bones it is
more than imagining, the
breath
of parting is a grate in the gutter of this summer
a fleshen swivel, I was wondering where the rocking would lead. And then by chance you sat up. Quick to alert firestation awning.
Signals that wrench
wrists & curve of head
backing up of swaddle
repetition lie down I will
let me
the tracing of
old pathways is talcum tissue bloom spot time sorting
the top of the head guides into loss, its sound is folded flour to bake an island, to shape
an infinitely tiny new vessel