that chapstick showed me way, way more kindness than I deserve.
"There were no stars to light his way."
Intricate, dermus-thin ripples between the troughs
give off scent of rough, of marrow, that no nose
has ever known, that
no eyes have ever trimmed;
cataclysmically, every brainstem has categorized the crisis
of a nose without a flower,
a toe without a measure.
We pass in metal, cruelly,
we dance, austerely,
a trip-step in two rhythms, confounding, like a bass note you can’t quite
Here comes a candle to light you to bed,
here comes a chopper to chop off your head.
His eyes fixed sharply
on a thin light far off, a splinter,
a shard of color; looks like
Heaven’s vanity mirror fell off the counter last night:
now either God or Gabriel has seven years of
bad luck to look
forward to. He looked too
quickly at the thin light far off
and like a papercut on the penitent finger of a cantor
his cornea was split open clean, raw eyes wide to
an arid wind.
Blood ran down
the side of a thin light
far off and into the black cracks beneath his feet, ranging in size
from paper-thin to as wide as oceans,
each letting loose vagrant
howls, screams caught in the throat
of the Earth.
Dennis Oppenheim, Two Stage Transfer Drawing
“As I run a marker along Eric’s s back he attempts to duplicate the movement on the wall. My activity stimulates a kinetic response from his sensory system. I am, therefore, Drawing Through Him.”
In Little Blair Valley, you can mark a far spot
With your eyes, like a prize, from a cragged mountaintop
And dingledo down, warm as rain runoff
(Cracks in the ground form a stormdrain for sundrops)
Never obstructing your view of the distance
Your leg muscles close, like lovers…
Not bad, for a robot.