121.
Thursday morning
a gong from the night sky
the rest of the world is asleep
& i’m madly collecting thirty words
(& their kin)
words slip from my fingers
stick to my sleeves
slide back, slide back gravity bound
i’m going to have to recreate the whole world
with language from these thirty words
but what’s language without possession
or colour?
122.
Thursday morning 4am
thirty words are left on the living room floor
none of them articles
none of them adjectives
none of them pronouns
none of them coloured or even black
The list of things to do in a pile of letters
the calendar is blank for next month
& the past week
thirty words fall in a cascade
(so what is a world without letters?)
if I speak, will words fall from my mouth
gravity bound
& attracted to their kin on the floor?
123.
When you suggested the Lord’s Prayer
there was no indication that your left ring finger
had anything to do with it
There were eyes pressed against the window
the window
eyes with tongues hanging out of them
the window
the window
long tongues, lecherous tongues
at the window
the window
eyes looking straight at me
the window
the window
tongues slurping
the window
the window
the window
124.
Your hands on my skin
like yesterday never happened
like the shiver of a spiderweb in the sun
like time vibrating
like praises to that same god
only a breath’s worth
125.
& forgive us our trespasses
as your finger bleeds into the bucket
forgive us your trespasses
our trespasses
yours
the debate rages on
until your ring finger
tired of being married
drops off from your hand
& walks out the door for good