resurrection

hey, look at this symbol
i made it with my hands
i can erase it
also with my hands
in a removed sense
or, in a sense,
i could erase it with removed hands

here, the collective is widening
i used to watch the blanket spreading out       before me
now i move the blanket here and there
it gets wet & dirty
we shake it in the wind         (together)

my own hands are wet now
with qualities that symbolise
a participatory system of nonlinear growth
resulting in the formation of my arms &
my hands, for instance,
my hands don't have teeth

i can't actually structure a thought
without devouring others; or hungering
for honey; i cannot actually become full
by licking hexagons

but you know this part as fluently as your tongue
recognizes the taste of peaches glimmering around
in a bowl of paint & i'll be the snail on the rim,
circling

i see your fingers moving,
searching below the linen for the needle
that you pressed through from one side
to the other
one
ocean
an ocean
of one size was once
was world sized? was everything once covered
in ocean?
but i have to ask you to sink with me
please, let's sink down
as down as can be sunk
lower with me through this slimy muck
at the bottom of the aqueous civic auditorium
let's pick through the leaves

& i'd better see some photograph here of there,
that other land laying between over the rainbow
and satie's gnossienne (called facsimilie, or number six)

and now i have a dream:

cul-de-sac
grey is the antidote
pink the keyhole
it is possible to hate winter
holding close the laugh
the gulls over the graveyard
the yelling order of days
i don't regret the anything
the sand
and ten months are glorious
even on the beach & where it ends
where the gulls of winter
share the clock with the tide
you live with a sky
that whips your skin
that watches you sleep
with your clothes on

i want to do things for you i want to do things with you all the while i will wish i could do more

i used to stretch ribbons between my shoes
and listen to magical songs from old countries
sleepy each time
when my socks slip down and i forever give you
charts, offerings, various gleaming strings, and snail
shells, hundreds of beautiful snail shells. and i held each
in my mouth as i walked toward your house, one snail shell
at a time, i held them in my mouth until they had all been held.

that dream is a yard dream
that dream is piss
i am an anarchist
reserving voice for expected needs
and when there are none?
how to compress again?
paint this shoe yellow 
and this one red.

(pausebreak) may eleventh

these leg bruises between the flowers
become this “is the high life”
when we sing some natural song
count it in the column of
“the real” “oh and i will”
always remember chimes
lifted in champagne arrow
points sifting around fruits
and patterns of loving and
not loving that may amount
to an entire life?
here is a tap shoe
with my foot in it and no,
i don’t expect you to love
me back
but at least touch this blanket
with your five hundred fingers
and at least consider how well
i could amount to something
given the right mixture
of materials and motivation
however i’d compare shins
with anyone at this point
and ian is a friend far away
but here are the shadows
within the radiator and here
is the continuation of my will:

-one gasp
-one sleepy eye

-porches, glowing lights
-people everywhere
-correct seated posture
-a volcano song by phil
-future tense nostalgia
-plans, plans, plans
-the bathroom as refuge
-the city as a patron
-elbow room
-wanting your face
-feeble laughter over dinner
-quaint furnishings
-built to suit
-worthiness
-saving life
-points of departure
-the entire loch
-the crystalline
-the epoch
-the speaker
-you

speak this slaked over space
demarcated with tongue of shell color/heart color or
roaring in the head in the ears
speak this island offering
a solid, often thing, will into existence
too many rounded edges to name
speak long struggle with a flag
gashing neon fitstreams of policy in ash
speak i heave i have felt it in my legs
and in my back
speak without speaking
speak back into a conch shell or
speak black curtains as we drop
from buildings speak mountain


do     you     trust     me?
to       do       this       close-in   thing?
an        open      ing        is       happen    ing
in            the         room
i       feel      closer     to    you      than  
before     i    know   your      face     now  
that     i    have     kissed       it      in     the  
absolute    bottom     of    the     swimming    pool