#234 - I make an archive of myself

 

23.viii.20

234

I make an archive of myself  

rough, scratchy, splinters

 

an edge of the wind to touch

mind elsewhere

 

this room never opened

toys not put away

 

I file myself under the pile  

call it sleep

 

an homage for the Tams of Tim

 

out of the tall day

black cockies come

 

travelled in these mysteries

and make a guess of when

 

will we bring them back to words?

 

remember showing script as it comes

and call a spitting sky

 

keep some gusts of self, fan fire

 

in such efforts, understand

remember

 

flowers pressed upon the heart

box of wishes fallen in

a curiosities cabinet

 

everything practice

all for the record

let them in particular die

(most genocides before the word)

but witness now

 

some breezes shot in there

 

go back to the notes

for a land we have lost

so sleight the paper to

 

lost in all the phrases were

days they were delivered

 

think it all in a box

and you drum on

 

random and stray

call this blizzard width

so white

keep a box of tissues blown

install a heavier door

 

when weary of the tricks

o rhetor

 

a rise in fall in moments of

the forest on the chest

 

I make a spectacle

sun to burn

 

only one world

only one life

only this once

here now

 

say ‘monster’

and we speak of ourselves

 

each to our moment

give me the kingdom call

 

up in the gods

 

lost at the conference

in my own writing

 

nights between

choosing a room

 

keyless and gone

wander off topic

 

watching the play

and needing to go

 

what was performed?

did I distract?

 

tiptoe, corridor creep

we were up in the gods

 

surely nobody saw me

pure thought of first

 

and afterdim

cosy to quiet

 

a ghost crept in

and on so with

 

wake to the forest

tall of limb

 

bent to

a furious thrashing