hold still

i can brush paint around
i heard old songs today
there will be huge piles of what i'd made
there will be huge piles towering
i made a song to you
i painted up your face
i hurt my hand today
i hurt my house being loud, stomping the attic
i want to draw all night
what is that? a lion.
what is that? a cassette tape, a bird's nest.
what is that? i am being arrested.
i have to draw a picture again to get out of the old song.
i have to hear the old song to remember how to draw.
i am meeting you around the back of the house.
it isn't built yet, or,
we don't know it.
i am out of drawing paper, but i have rice
i think if the rice is flat, i can draw on it
if the drawing is flat it will fly
it will be a big cover, like cloud cover
for the whole sky
can i see out from under it?
yes, draw a hole to be peering through.
can i sing the old songs to dissolve it?
yes, they cut as they were written to.
the old voice sounds like a baby
but the words suffer with immobility
the old songs wish they could draw
the old songs paint pictures in the dark
my ears are not sturdy against them
i feel the old words and worship them
isn't it a violence, to love the past?
i don't want to hurt this moment.
i love it, i want to draw it-