Tuesday, January 24, 2017

the land

ink, gouache and glitter on wood,  16" x 20."


the land

sing of a greasy red fish 
tacked to a board 
battery operated 
against its peers
with its chewed-off tail
its eye to the glass
singing this is the land
of fireworks displays
handheld realities that read
the hand that holds them
this is the land where tender mercies 

die a thousand times over
where mental pygmies boil the flesh
from your bones
where the tide brings in biological wreckage

but also the land 
where the tide goes out 
where you may sleep all day and night 
and dream of sable garlands
empty sleeves and tautological

sweet nothings that whisper across 
a painless sky
it is here in the sweet and sour
that you and everyone resides 

everyone you know anyway 
caterpillar to chrysalis to butterfly
growing in utterly burned down trust 
without a mouth with which to eat

eyes are asleep yet awake 
strangely blind seeing only 
what they know
the lines in and out

precise and certain
unknowing arc of a burning eye 

unguided unprecedented
lining up to sip from the fountain 

practically cosmic in its proportions 
and deep to the center of the earth 
we sip and bathe in the eye 
hovering above the ground
lifelike and present listening
to your requests and granting none

the dead listen up through the grass
and hear your doubts and fears
you were certain but now have only questions 

and you become cleaner clearer soporific
yet speeding along behind the wheel
of a terrible gift smooth and seamless 

impenetrable replicable but inconceivable 
how can you exit?
cruel sentences hang in the air
above the blank page
that rise above a collective forgetting 
doomed and damned entering and leaving 
through the same doors

is this the same word?
the same underbelly
in the gravel of speech 

venerated philosophical 
circle of typewriters mutter 
in a human figure
that walks about unconcerned with gravity 
or the circles of flame
never wanting to see itself
in either shadow or light

people beg and line the roads 
uttering a single whisper: 
“nothing in the world
will be uncorrupted

dear hearts a blemish 
and blight brought 
not by justice but by 
its abscess revenge 
please tell us
we are