The Brooklyn Rail

Bark, archive, splinter 

 

How easy for you to spit out: the moon is an ingot, wrapped in yellow velour

 

An ornament or an ordinance. An audience

 

For the woodlands turn, hardly to glare and alarm anymore, but reorientated further, towards those stranger meats augmenting your itch to         

 

inosculate

 

Like riding the thick rhizome

 

You wanted the intimacy of two words who share a sound to unsecure that world

 

Circling in on the hybrid subject

 

Kink of robbing occasion of its routine. Like kidnapping the witness of the witness tree

 

You need to self-graft a little space from him. Pause the urge. To not drape your yellow skin across a chink in a pair of linden trees. Infinite

 

procedures in your arousal to hurt; when two trunks abrade the other in the gust

 

To fuse scar tissue, sap, spit, sweat, union, exchange, damascene. Even an obscure connection is always

 

In tender habit at the extremities

 

From where did they get the wood to build the door for the dead out of. How many ways can you limbo through its junction

 

He kisses your chest with a stethoscope

 

At the extremities

 

No individuals. Only hyphenation

Bark, archive, splinter

 

Wild marsh, blackberry trellis, tenacity

 

Choosing one species of flower over another cultivates a micro-erotics of translation

 

What turns you on

 

Bees infecting the gutter

 

Like a tyrant, leafing through all the tinnient corpses left behind

Bark, archive, splinter

 

You, who is forever combing reality for signs of literature 

 

They awaken a coming language comprised of just one word or marking, affirmation

 

Grand opening of the woods’ facade

 

Arboreal scale. Atomic swerve

 

Guided by chance, the permanent constituents of the universe

 

Phenomena, void, mortality; all the disagreements you never had with him

 

The minor twist or hinge. To have gone with him

 

Clinamen: the slanted motion of the groundless soul

 

                                                          notation

Bark, archive, splinter

 

Video surveillance rewinded. The cypress trees are caught fumigating their storage units

 

                                               rewilded

 

For months your phone’s malfunctioning lock screen refused to recognise your swollen face. As if the landscape of its background picture 

 

kept sharpening its scrutiny behind you, onto some other tenant

 

For months your relationship between death-sleep and dreaming was like the relationship of a riddle veering towards the borderlines of oral         

 

history

 

Ancient red-handed battle between grazing cows and heavy metal horses

 

The worsted texture of atmospheric constraint coats your tongue like a savage fungus

 

                                                              lyric

 

To summarise, you are nothing but air’s vacancy

 

Tremolo. Just an unstable leaf sample, a toxic bane

 

Sojourning to learn a trick to steal gold from ants