Her Seeing Night

They came,
red dark bursts of flame,
thirty-six letters spun, living deeds,
unloving pupils, bumbling tongues,
their foundation—a high,
mountainous host
of world-lent reputation,
built talk upon silent song,
blood-caked, lashing purple,
the gaping electorate:

neck-bones bent, bending,
incinerating laughter?

Radiated in the few million,
their mud-slick ear, anger,
hirsute genitalia, a tough suspense.

white viscosities, the shine, the light,
one stub-node humbling,
two binary agreements dancing,
and delightful fever
assembling prayerful:

shawl hurt, garment rung,
tapestry kicked, sandal slung;

frenzy, slither, broth pinked
outside a main; A graying lung.


On a postmodern roam through post-
mortem Rome,
my main man and his ridiculous dream,
a signature union, square zeroes,
half a downtown away,
believing his
why-live-here under a distinct,
defunct districting, the Southeastern
caucusing clockface,
vibrating that vision, scorched-out,
yellow—faded memory, fading polaroid,
finally, wholly processed.


They—the all-closed—breaking
out from flogged off memory,
beneath forgetting skies,
glistening, radio-free, sounding
out the century, when we
served as two, and then as one,
and then as other than
we could find
to offer to ourselves,
and then in another,
for both, now gone,
so I write in free measure
by liquefied flight from impunity’s liberties.