Even In Rest
after "L'acharnement" This movement is stillness. Resting, we travel through our pasts. The world has ignited in confusion, withered remains, backs hunched in breath. We sit, trying to ignore a TV that dangles from clouds, heaven's umbilical cord. Turn your cheek to motion. Take off your hat, let me feel the bones. I want to know your face. The blur of feet, bad reception, everything a struggle not to unbutton your coat. You started two breaths ahead, our bodies will race forever. It's Called Living WellWhat would you say if I exhaled in your mouth?Watched your cheeks expand like balloons? Can you spit with closed eyes? Accept small gifts? Would you force me to blow in your ears, the last thing you heard deceit? Maybe you would be lulled by the sound of rain, pulled close by a loop of belt. Senseless hammer, your door forever knocks. Leaving whispers below your porch My gift of lies, collapsed lungs. The fear of simple math I watch as you use the window as a mirror, slipping away from clothes. The ringing phone, birds sing sleepily as your layers fly. Thrown to sinking closets where absence is the missing doorknob, the winking light. |