laying by bones at the chalkboard
what does dust do,
((be breathed in by voices))
at the age where tissue moves by wire
all weird in attention to escape
a thought
would make a boiling river of your questions
i can almost remember the fear of a hunting to come
when she actually visited the mountain
when she actually voiced an opinion
we are being charged with a violence
against something which i beg you to not trust
see by what hand you are guided
and don't gouge out your eyes, you'll need them to be sure
seeing that all around you are nets
hear them ringing
squeezed out in a remote sense, your own dreaming
caught on rocks and slick as ice underneath
if a face is what will suffer us no time
we can single out the eyes lips and teeth that bring us together
the face now underpainted, having been forsaken
by his hand, displayed on empty honeycomb
heartbroken, singing:
if a face is strong enough on the eye to strike its background dull
and if that face cuts our joyous shouts shy
quiet and solemn i would cry
and bring nothing back to you
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