thatwhichiwilldrowninlightlikesilhouettes
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In a City: it is Customary
to Offer every Body the Chance to
State its Exalted Purpose, Before Tackling, and Taking-It-Down for the Count. See: There is no-Nostalgia
Permitted in this House. So: let’s take a Walk while Thinking
(this) Backwards. I am the Coveted
Secret, that under the Sheets and Surface and Whitens the Widen. It Seems
My Body will Never Appear so Fucked
again and this Appeases. It Only
Makes Sense, that this Graceful Line Merits a Shy Circumcision. The Fleeting and Oh-So Dandelion-Puff of these Days.
And At-Least, I Can Die,
Knowing that I Have Fondled your
Dollhouse, Tucked under this Pillow. And We Tell Ourselves: this is None and
Ever (in) Sow. My Face, to Yours:
Disguised as a Shipyard, as a Sinister
Buoy. And She Had Said: She is Said. To Remain, but
Often, but Frozen, Within a Questionable Glance,
Within a Theory of Distinct States of Disjunction. And in this: our Bodies, Might Tear-Away,
Becoming Distinctly “But A Notion”
that I Will Drown, with my Hands, in Light, like Silhouettes. The Body, the
Exhaustion, the Intersection, the Cavity, the Sky, and the Desperation for a Plural Ending.
To Wash-Away the Memory, of my
Dearest Friends. I am Beginning, to See
this, as a Process, of Tucking-In,
what is Thought, what is Expelled, what
Insists, to Examine all the Rest: the gulp, is the Face of a Glock,
that Saves the Final Trigger for the Best Bitch in Class. Funny:
how I Caused all this, to be so Deceivingly
Exact. And what I Have Strived for, is to Harbor every Heartless, every Calculated,
yet Sincere thump of Will. And Then: The City Man’s Amen. So That:
What We See, We Have-Seen. And By
You: I Have an Unhealthy and Rabid Desire
for Composing the Composition of this Excessive
Opposition to –Ad, -Positio’s Proposition. in other words: I am all that ever Speaks in This. But Baby, I Got a Mouth that’ll Carve
your Thigh Right-Into this
Ceiling on the Fly
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