Unmessage
Scene: Through an upper window
the swollen ground is mucousy with rain.
Clear sky, an ointment. Fade to sky.
Repeat.
No matter how love pushes away the knife,
it is always translucent, like a fish.
Like the memory of a fish we look for
trying to make out the hook from
the other gleamings, color deeming
outright. Fade to sky. Repeat:
The act of memory bounded.
I wash the carrots and put them in Tupperware
with enough water to keep them from drowning.
Utility is like pine shade in the yard.
I am ready for breakfast, for lunch, to reach
back through sunlight on linoleum
to push my hand away from the stove,
from the broken glass, from the yawning
oven of despair, wet like an open mouth.
The director may be subtracted from hell.
Utility is an authentic voice.
The princely export in a gleam disguise
These dark angles wherein comfort lies.
With the shades drawn the window is an impenetrable
slate. Unmessage: Hear the tree amusing herself,
the roots disgorging this ground, the clutch
of a curious customer no longer interested in this
or that stump ability, clump of marbled mass.
Mossy bereavement the ground exhales in chunky
heaves.
Scene: This tree, generational pine left out to suburban
monument lays down her toil; goes in search
inside. Wants back into the darkness of the day.
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