Each Other

attachment is poison of trash bins awaiting a knife harvest
in necessary cut-out of all preoccupation with self-made-whatever the hell it is
is hell in another form known silence of the body and all its motions a

house of these types a city of countries on a single continent the
dragon of breath and air of the dizzy delicious wine of seasonal necessity’s relevance—
years of a century built into a library
the starving wolves outside howling for a brochure, no

one knows who has the key or who had the key as all memory is a fragment
of a shade of a shadow to a person to a people
now no more in their tact

animates what stands outside now
and whispers statues in rumor of the morning dove

who mourns in a whistle in the throat of a cave within the imagination of a shattered
heart of a clock amidst death-throws as it curdles into a fetus and moans testimony to the wind

what gains balance in hearing streets steam screaming faceless ages to the courtship
of possibility, is hard to say, as hard as stone a statue was made and now stairs through the
grey misty rain of dilated rain drops, futuristic mutations, roaming in and out of
signal range the

spaces contain only echo of an imprint now here
casts control of a dice,
settles on digital numbers,
again and again as indication of eye blinks
regaining consciousness upon thrown accentuals the
melodic dance of twisted scenarios co-opt headdress and resign
a kingdom in the brain to most—but those who hear glow of their own understand

not all keys were made for doors and not all doors
were invented sending
pictures onto a space which has not happened yet

where a people have not been recognized yet where

as she dies in an unmarked grave covered in the skin of man becomes
rapid with hysteria and vulture flock down to investigate the scene
changes lights in a traffic frenzy cars pull in and out of creativity as new
moons populate sensations become mechanical deeds’ allowance

the open

palm of how vines entangle
grow without touching
anything, space
and the shape of space
with the mouth-human
anticipation, magnetic
uncoiled proximity


find each other in the crevice of our rooms a sky
full of non-targetable mentions

the earth

and her fearful trauma
what it takes to drag colors across space, the lives
the times survived,
we are
whispers between time finding each other

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s