unnecessary messages for those in need of unnecessary messages

 

 

.explode this icon before it speaks.
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.unlick the envelope as it closes around you.
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.unlick the envelope as you close yourself.
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.now lick the underside of your profile.
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.now stick your profile to the mirror.
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.look in the rear-view mirror at what is front of us.
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.look in the rear-view mirror at what is.
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.you are content to carry the emptiness in your suitcase.
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.you are a skin-graft on time.
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.this moment wants to buy back the bruise it has made.
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.this moment wants to buy back this bruise.
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.this is an image of a man falling.
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.this is an image of the cliff falling beyond the man.
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.into which font will you put this body.
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.this body you balance on the end of your finger.
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.limp form invested with the tenderness of broken offal.
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.you are balanced on the end of his finger.
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.from the end of his finger you will now overbalance.
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.fall as human dough coming to rest in a clean bowl.
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.now grate your head into that same bowl.
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.now cover the bowl with a linen shroud.
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.now show me what violence looks like.
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.now show me what violence looks like without the blood.
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.now show me you & i looking at this violence.
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.now show me you & i without our blood.
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.we are a habit of death.
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.and there is a verb that hungers in the middle of death.
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.a verb that belongs in our soft jasper mouth.
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.just as we belong in that same jasper mouth.
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.this mouth that we are not permitted to open.
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.why don’t we explore this decision with our tongue.
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.make use of the inevitable before it occurs.
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.why don’t we let the decision explore our tongue.
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.let it recruit its process from cold saliva.
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.i would’ve thought you would’ve turned away as these words undress.
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.like all of us you are intrigued by the genitalia of meaning.
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.your hand on my hand on your thigh.
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.my hand on your hand on your thigh.
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.our hand on our hand on our thigh.
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.i would’ve thought we would’ve turned away as these words turn away.
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.but we have turned ourselves into two silent bells.
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.our unchanting cavities muffled with handfuls of ears.
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.i would’ve thought i would turn away as these words apprehend meaning.
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.we could force these words to stand in a roomful of clichés.
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.force them to dance to the score of our fascist fantasy.
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.watch them through a window rinsed with overdue premonition.
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.the inadmissible has admitted to being in this room at this time.
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.and this room is a lung about to exhale the both of us.
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.into the uncontemplated air for the sun to breathe us back in.
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.no one ever told me that earth is an anagram of heart.
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.and that each can pretend to be the other’s shape.
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.each with or without veins with or without their red hearing.
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.it is a given that veins give the blood its economy.
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.so split these veins and use them to carpet ideas.
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.these veins used as ropes to moor both planets and organs.
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.these veins that lead to the jasper mouth of two silent bells.
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.now show me the blood without the violence.
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.now show me you & i showing each other our blood.
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.somebody has shown you how to hollow out my head with a smile.
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.you already knew how to stain this image with an unfilmed look.
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.how to smash this theoretical spine with a carefully placed thought.
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.how to test the reflexes of ligaments frozen in sound.
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.you are standing on the burial site of punctuation.
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.so bend the surface of everything in a single preposition.
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.the corners expect inseminating laughter from fraying names.
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.clearance has been given to introduce a simple pun.
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.the one where i say ‘why not move here from here to here’.
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.where you reply ‘here must not stay here’.
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.then this page still insists that ‘here is still here’.
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.we understand the need to cook the same ending in a dead pan.
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.granted you were given distribution rights for the metaphor.
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.because you could publicly make a flower from comet dust.
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.you are content to carry the emptiness full of suitcases.
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.you are the content you carry in the emptiest of suitcases.
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.you set up next to the death of history on an hourly basis.
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.you throw the sky over my lap to keep me warm.
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.then you break open a fresh ream of your own skin.
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.and print up all the rumours you have heard about yourself.
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.as a youth you mapped the lines of both femurs with thumb tacks.
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.only now have their heads begun to rust in their welcoming way.
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.ferric emissions that steal their colour from an autumn library.
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.as you run the length of a tongue and into this decision.
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.as you ring the epiglottal aparatii of two silent bells.
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.promising room and board to the phosphorous in the fire.
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.the fire running through the train falls asleep at your feet.
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.nothing can save us because nothing will save us.
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.every day god paints his fingernails with tar.
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.to provide at least ten different runways for your belief.
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.maybe we should nail the cross to the man instead.
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.perhaps one less elaborate made from fence palings.
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.encourage theologians to trade sequins as they kiss.
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.offer up tons of full stops each succinctly wrapped in a yellow petal.
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.then resurface with a new gospel in the shape of an eye.
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.send the moon back to its anxious circle.
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.seduce this yeast driven landscape bowing to the harmony of squares.
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.in the stillness of the stillness at the stillness the stillness barks.
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.from the stillness to the stillness with the stillness the stillness jumps.
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.bend a single preposition into the surface of everything.
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.nothing can save us because nothing has saved us.
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.all objects are hands.
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.all objects are hands.
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.and these sharp hands are flowing upwards through the funnel.
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.my hands suffocate in the non-negotiable skin on your shoulder blades.
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.and this arrow (→) is this far away from your back.
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.this arrow (→) is now at the lips of the wound unmet.
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.this arrow (←) cannot tear through flesh made of arrows.
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.both of us as you & i without our violence.
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.both of us as you & i without our blood.
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.nothing is the sound of two silent bells.
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.so drill holes into the surface of this poem.
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.lie under those pinholes of light under this malleable structure.
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.we are the theme within the guerrilla tactics of light.
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.our pores cameras inviting movement from animals close to extinction.
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.our cells build to a callous under the flared eyelid of the sun.

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