Weekend Poetry: No God is Like a Vapour
No god is like a vapour
no god is like a vapour gods are as oil & sponge as this
here are my droplets : here are my tendrils & their
galactic melting here : i am a dish of brine
& pink water watch : i will show my face to death
except do not watch i can only perform
down here here under a thousand atmospheres
in dreams i was not licked into this salt existence down in
these murky whirlpools not licked into this almost-life
in dreams i am shocking everything with my hot
twitching knowledge but i fear corners & small rooms & i
can do nothing but atrophy this almost-flesh through the
water in dreams i am not naked & afraid in dreams
i have been given hands so that i might hold myself
When our mongrel began to leave us I
stood by the window looking out for some time. There was nothing
but the windfarm’s treelike groaning, & the terrible
vibrating mazes of grass. Nurses spoke quietly of shipwrecks.
She had expected her life to be otherwise— not so coarse, medicinal
her jaw a closed-off machine trying to cast out
her knitted breath. I began to think
of muscle memory— how at any time I could
wander up to the piano in the loft, breach
this routine of forgetfulness, plant
my fingers down on its clumsy hinges.
We don’t know where she’s going or how fast.
It is a struggle of light & we are washed
in the hope of it, & now she is muttering and close
to see-through. Waiting for her escape is something that falls &
falls— like the rain that splits this window, with cracks of imperfect blue.
A Short History of Strangulation
to begin at sweetness
to walk on the beach.
to be lost among the slanted lights of carousels.
to be washed in several kinds of sweat.
to make use of funhouse mirrors.
to wander through the galleries of your imperfection.
to learn how to experience a mirror.
to strive towards the condition of arcade machines, their luminous certainty.
to be draped in wings of rain.
to look up at the moon, foster mother.
to feel the salt wind bucking between your teeth.
to take the exit wound out, past the end of the driveway.
to balance it on your tongue.
to kneel down to bars of soap, to kiss and forgive them.
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