.....

Hell-bent song, full of tweezers
and rage-beaten maps,
hold your coil still within me
until it can pierce
     the firmament with curses,
     until it can seethe and inhabit
          the wounds of whole civilizations,
     until all is at risk of being forever lost.


Make of me
     a melody that wrings
          the epiphanic clouds
              free of blue,
  and make the blue places
also light up, recorded or
                               unrecorded.


For I have been in holy sections
with my consciousness smashed in like a bank account
let me be now unblessed,
complicated and compounded
                   ten thousand fold
 by the song at the root of all songs
 by the library that sings in a cliff
    and the ocean a line lovingly
                                   inattentive.


Dance into
              a protected scope,
         scatter the astral video of leaves
            blowing that lives there,
                in a cabinet hallway,
                     saying "monster".
  Scatter my partnership
         to the arabesques of out-of-control gardens
        so that I might see
             someone coming with water.