Sunday, January 25, 2015

wave and smoke

it is no time at all ,but
pulgas ,hit's today ,en
sus opacos retumbos ,to
wake the invisible ,if ex
posed in shorts' secreted
hour ,de un betún azul ,the
missing organs the long
cured skeleton in your
leg ,collaged the bones ,que
parecían borrados ,unless
it's ending ,the futurists cur
ved ,ecstatic ,yet not again
,la mano después de la lluvia
always nebulous ,if coming
home ,or dishes' alienation
,casi en las sombras' book
detexted ,corrugado ,sucked
out in tidal space ,debinding
,en la repantigada oscuridad
the lithiform dead ,what
oil has ,until the flood
,stinking in a dockyard wh
ere the feet afloat ,como el
baile se congeló ,durational
in fact if not ,the chalky
endings ,inmovilizados en el
gesto de hormigas, or ex
hausted suit letters ,para
fijar la perspectiva in the
fading eye ,or nostril ,over
the hands ,when the watch
lights up

A 4 voces: John M. Bennett, Jim Leftwuch (Six
Months Aint No Sentence, Book 100, 2015),
Ivan Argüelles (“omega”, 2015), and José
Lezama Lima (Paradiso, 1966).


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