Untitled (after Norma Cole)
hey all you rivers & crossing rocks, collusion!
hey all you unstayed friends we’re of & in. grew legs & crawled
like a country song the bricks.
there was a whole concept made pregnant, little mandibles of ant
we think sentience is. hey all you
crickets the yard is thick with (every insect sound is a cricket) or here’s hey all you.
particle-men on the one hand make a list.
vowels stretch within the no or show of language &
hey all you make drawings friends. hello then is
I hope you make it there alright.
from SLOW MUSIC
you said misapprehension occurs when you think
you can apprehend. the big white patch that dreams you up
having the urge to spit inevitable adjectives or fuck
the distance that measures itself against us. like seeing a face where there is none.
not from the burning plucked but already burned down. at the edge of
town emerging from the scrub within having finished walking with
the dogs you see a man about to come into where you've just been
holding a rope with a dog at the end in one hand a machete in the other hand a narrative.
why is it “Roofs” & not “Rooves”?
a snare (not a drum), an issue of blood. there is
a creature who lives inside me as if he is at home, & he is. I am
easily deceived into thinking—a human being. it is
our sense of sight that tells us a body is free & we come into breaking,
bridging, buckling mouths. but the question was about how to be a house
without doors? or a stall with no horse? if pressed, I might could show
what difference there is between inheritance & infection, but not what distance.
