raven A


it begins Softest car, abattoir batch
because I can’t speak
speech placed completely and verifiably beyond use

if it seems to happen
outside my head and continues
We dry things that carry the sea in a bag

only that makes a window in permanent slamming in blindness
still only a window

love is not blind
I mean seriously
but a generalisation of eyes about the set

Settling down by scaled steps into being
where the cock and the hen and the fox are

in tawny unison flattening hair to a scale
frayed into feather eroded to dander
why can it not go on so

you know where the writing ends
and the thing typing enters the mid-part of
if I could caw

to you across the intrusive spur
to understand
to me as an infinitive

it would turn out
On the skin of the best shamisen
the position of the cat’s nipples can still be seen

as it always does
having opened once
Blow the sour entrails into the hopper of meal

how can it close
The cross a torn coccyx aliquot part
imagine disowning that

breath withheld between quotes
in a locked groove
the automatic return tone-arm never gets to reach

the intro haunted by the outro

Published in issue 4 of Halfcircle magazine, 2012.  Collected in Factitious Airs.

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