from, Court Gesture
NEWS / PACE – PLACE - PLACEBO / FOUR – FLOUR / LAD – GLADE / GRID / HUT / PAT - TRAP – TAPIR / MAT – TEAM / JUT / WOMAN / LAZY / BAIT / CHUTE / KITE / FORK / GOAD / ZEE / BARE / DIG – GAINED / ONYX / QUEEN / HEX
I dig the wind scaly with kites, nonreactive
to its own refashioning. Not lazy per se, but nor
a team of one, needing no resources beyond itself.
Onyx baited light, gained a gleaming.
We gleaned from news our values—
the values put on us and put forward by.
A fork meets flour if flour has met that which
begets dough. Eat et and. Hand to mouth
to mouth. Ive learned better than to tell you
how something looks without first
looking to see. There are other ways. An otherwise.
Gaze-licked and goaded, the queen flashed
the lad. His pat buttered her. A mat
lay like a pat of butter on the huts crumbly floor.
The better to greet you. Excuse me,
may I replace your trap with a placebo?
May I tamper with and redirect the hex?
To be ended as with a zee, expectedly.
Bloody, bloody. Was the alphabet corralling
the way words formed with the alphabet are—
seek to be: woman, man, clothed,
bare, bear, tapir, etc. Four sighs struggled up
the chute of my throat and settled
in the glade. A gator stood in for something,
jutted up like a palm of mud. A slick hand
makes a quarter go away. Absence heaved forth
fascination. Mood as placenta, nourishing a face.
We use this grid to know ourselves.
Pace from point to point, then tinker
with hunkering. That where we are, there is!
DAY – DAILY / MAN – MAGNET / RAIN – DEBRAIN / TONE / HIRE – THRIVE / SOY – YOGIS / MICE – CLIME – MALICE – CLAIMED / GNAT – GRANT – TEARING / POX / JUNE / BUSY / FOX / HAY – HAIRY / LAP – PLACE / WOK / LORD – ROILED / FOE – FORE – FORGE / JUNK / QUA / WENT
Your malice forged quite a foe
lapping at you for debraining.
A junk lord went man
on us, thrived like a magnet
in rain. Grant us a June
a wok would envy.
May we be soy bits
twice browned, our tenderness defected.
A conjunction no longer roiled
the sentence settled in
my mouth, though the confession
did as a fox might
securing a new hole
and established its hold
over an empty place.
At the fore of our mice-days scattering
of us parting more profoundly
than a biblical sea
an umbilical myth nourishes
your largesse, and yogis seek you,
houser of gnat-bodies in your syrupy cup.
If I lay out hay for the dream to chew,
will it let me approach it?
If you vote a pox off the island,
will it seek vengeance and inscribe
itself in your very cave?
Your tone gets busy with your meaning,
bares it. I never claimed the hairy pew
of you for sitting. Gross. As a film grosses,
as a film of fuzz hugs a thigh as
a breading hugs. Its true, no one will
have (qua hire) me—not so much
biting as tearing. We know the climes
we each prefer. Daily we anticipate
hearing the others preference.