I Know I Have To Take These Pills
but I have this block happening—I believe
I am convinced
if I stick them behind my tongue—the migraines
My voice will come back—the trees
will reveal themselves
to me! Again! Allthing has stopped talking
to me—my host
of inanimate lovers. Green is no longer
GREEN as I want
color should be—resolvable. To be.
The cello does not
alight inside my chest—the violin has become
a barrow of strings—creaks
over stagnant waters. I cannot feel
the sun on my face. I go
outside now—o maybe the sun
through the borders
of my window were more
than I can be. Typing has gone
to shit. Fingers—steer me
wrong every time.
to 5:30 with cars in between. How can
I swallow when this is all the words.
too high now, faced with this beak. I
swoop elegant, curvy, bowed—I roll
ploughed, polished and feathered.
Dismantle myself for the sun with
each new crust—great flowing below
this blood—below your rock
my universe boils.
And even the universe is stunted lately.
A should’ve-been whirling
mass, I suck stars, encircle—I
melodrama and too-much need you.
Goddamn break down this gravitational
pull—these neurons once fired, are
white-hot as coal fleeing on air. Fluid
nature preens but never prevails.
You plucked me from xylophone
bones. You, minus a G flat or maybe an A
sharp. Molded sound from mud swathe
set afloat straw creation—haphazard, I
float deep and wide into orbital eddies.
Then the toothed daughters
I bear from your clammy hands (as I burst
into spontaneous being) scatter along
our vessel—until this still lagoon catches.