floating and leaving no trace
i crawl upon the earth
on my belly
like a snake
without benefit of limbs
i could coil myself
into a figure eight
the symbol for infinity
or shed my skin
and other symbol
this time for renewal
and immortality
or bite my tail
encircling the world
but the world has been
unkind to snakes
and i think i would
rather find some shade
than be a symbol
minute 500-077
inside animals
sorrow
fear
residue
new seeds are planted
——
I wrote a very short piece in English and translated it using Google Translate several times into multiple languages, eventually returning it in a somewhat fractured form (and edited). Interesting exercise. I have no clue how numbers got in there.
i have hated you
–the angel says–
from the moment
of your creation
so weak and powerless
can’t fly
can’t sing
you call that sound
you make singing
but it’s only noise
my gears are polished silver, gold,
my skin translucent pearl
i breathe fire
but can bring forth flowers
by kissing the earth
you are trapped in your meat
and your blood
giving birth in terror
and agony to terrors and
agonies
did you know
your screaming
is the only thing
approaching communication
with the divine
that’s the real song
he wants to hear
you were never meant
for paradise
you were built to suffer
because misery loves
company and
the stony ground
was always your final
destination
i stretch
you
until tau(gh)t
i pluck
you like a string
from you
the song of a
single pure note
rings
it is the ringing in my ear
love is tinnitus
there when you’re trying to fall asleep
when you wake up
(almost) maddening
both the roar of the ocean
and the dentist’s whining drill
a small thing affects
the senses
but still scrooge
learned the lessons
no swallowed toothpick
could ever teach him
he had to learn
from ghosts
what it meant
to be alive in his
own faltering flesh
the most pleasant sound
in the world is a typewriter
key striking a fresh piece of
paper and leaving a smudge free
ink-filled crater
behind
a close second the sound
of the bell when the right margin
has been attained
like a marathon runner
crossing
a finish line only to hear
the advance of the platen
zipper crunch slide to the left
finish line is just
another word for starting line
no sunlight to block now
but
such a small view
doesn’t warrant the trip
across the carpet
to lower the bar
hear it in your head
anyway
that clack of wood
as the tilt rod
eases the louvers down
only reflections
sun
having fled
and taken all visions with it
the window now
a mirror
——
The storm slowed traffic to a crawl, making it easy to tail the rig hauling stolen corpses.
But when the doors opened from the inside…
candles flicker for obvious reasons
birthdays, farewells, power outs,
supplication to saints
checking that canary you
carried down into the coal mine
homemade bikini waxing
sealing someone’s fate with a signet
pressed into a blood red blob
liberace
but mostly the presence of ghosts
Just going to put this here. All you discerning readers know what to do.
The trailer for my chapbook, From Every Moment a Second, is available for viewing on YouTube. Many thanks to Ken Gierke for assembling these scattered lines and images into a greater whole. Please note: prepublication sales determine the print run, which means this stage is crucial in terms of how many copies will be printed […]
Words and Feathers 