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