As soon as I start to speak, the crippling caving
Unintentional day of silence
Poached milkweed, lavender cupping
They say the way out is deeper in but sometimes I wanna run
When the dead are laid in common earth, if there be light what the light might mean
What it designates versus what it legislates
“Embedded in things and not just in sex”
I study the past to denaturalize the present
Pink stucco shell, gooey rot center
Are mares really impregnated by wind?
There is a clock ticking deep inside the bedrock
The Door to Hell has been burning continuously since the origin story
The threat is steely, latent, and inextricably linked to everyday violence vigorously and unequally enforced
At the crosswalk an assortment of self-satisfied men hoard clammy wads
A gloved hand extends from a tinted BMW to offer a brown banana
The disorder is individualized
A cloud-based living package of commercialized affects and capital functions
Radiating out across the land like so many orange jumpsuits
You call it a god, I call it a menace
I want to say the glass does not shatter it unfurls
Not here or there but in the mist
Our hero the velvet river, our hero the friend fetching another round
There is a possible future in a tender measure
An expanded geography of pleasure
The way out is across, in ardor
Let it burn bright in expansive night
I hear them singing “I hold out my hand and my heart will be in it”
Singing “the yam is the power that be”
The sun it sinks upon the valley, the sun it sinks upon the hill
The dead, electively present, conduit for all
The both/and meadow—beautiful and bleeding
Lover of the gray, don’t rest in forgetting
Demand a future equal to polemic
Call this immolation love
The bones remember, gather around the legible bones