Thursday, November 15, 2007

Forced Fire - a rite of passage

"Keep coming through on the radio..." - The Rezillos

this is no place
and the fires
at one stroke

go out like tides of air

not a dying
not a fading
but shock reeling out

place bounded—trees that lean—signal—inward as though—as though—concern—lascivious intent—like but not like—other—
naked one that lies—in debris it lies—scatter—moonless—place without sound—other—other

it is quiet penetration
of dead spirit the arrival
intersection of orbits
running of men with coals

hissing of night/thing that does not/does not wake/awake

it is curling, arching, combustion

in the dark and cold
people are waiting
to fuck

speak to us now in the waves of the body

it is the singing filament
that spans from diaphragm
to celestial arc
that draws us in
like hymn like battle song

(we see omens
in the edges of our eyes)

speak to us now in the waves of the body

our collective
position species medium
order of being

this waiting around, this waiting
we stamp and drink
stinking like wet reindeer

speak, naked one
in waves, speak

now leave the light of understanding by the door
and fuck off
(Published in Ditch 2007).

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